Pandora
by Boogum
Summary: The war never ended. Harry is in a coma, Muggles are dying, and hope is barely glimpsed in the eyes of those left to continue the fight. With no Chosen One to become the promised saviour, how can victory be won? Ginny discovers she has her own destiny: unpleasant, unwanted, and one that will bind her to a man she never thought she could love.
1. The Raid

This story is the revamped version of what used to be _The Different Shades of Grey._ For those of you who read the original _,_ I hope you like the changes. For those just joining us, please enjoy!

As a general warning, this fic will feature adult themes, violence, and sexual references.

* * *

 **The Raid**

"Ginny! Ginny, wake up!"

Ginny opened her eyes, groaning as her body realised all of its aches and pains. Ron leaned over her with a concerned expression on his face. His long nose was burnt pink from the sun, which would have normally made her want to poke fun at him; the thought didn't even occur to her now. Too much had happened. Too much had happened to everyone.

She sat up, wincing as pain shot through the back of her head. "What happened?" she asked, probing the throbbing area. A lump greeted her fingertips.

"You collapsed," Ron said, holding out his hand.

Ginny accepted his help and got pulled to her feet. Her legs wobbled in protest, but she soon regained the strength to stand. Good. No real damage done. Her brother was less satisfied and asked if he should get Madam Pomfrey.

She shook her head. "I'll be fine. Really," she added, noting the deepening crease on his brow. "It's probably just exhaustion. We've been fighting for years." A tired smile. "I think I just need a break from it all."

"Yeah." Ron glanced at his calloused hands. "The war could have ended long ago if I hadn't—" He broke off with a sigh, unable to finish the sentence.

"It's not your fault Harry was cursed, Ron," Ginny said quietly. "No one could have predicted that would happen."

His mouth twisted. "I was right there, Ginny!" he exclaimed, throwing his hand out as if to gesture to some battle only he could see. "I saw the curse hit him! I watched him fall, and I did nothing to stop it!"

"You couldn't have stopped it. This is Voldemort we're talking about."

Ron's voice turned bitter. "Yeah, well, now the only person who could have stopped this war is an inch from death thanks to that curse."

Ginny bit her lip, unsure what to say. Ron looked away from her, clenching his hands into fists and kicked at a stray rock. He still carried so much anger, so much guilt. His face was lined with the emotions—deep crevasses that aged him far beyond his twenty-two years. It was sad. She did not blame her brother for what had happened during the supposed Final Battle, but he could never forgive himself. She wished he could see that Harry would not have held it against him. Harry would have understood. He always had.

She touched her brother's arm. "We may pull through yet, Ron. Just have faith."

Ron laughed hollowly. "It's been four years, Ginny. Nothing is going to change. Our world is going to continue being a wasteland. Just look at the people around you." He made a sweeping motion at the campsite they called home. "Look at all the broken smiles and shattered dreams. We have no hope. We have nothing but this rotten camp with all its rotten, dying people."

Her heart clenched in pain. "It doesn't have to be this way. Harry will come back to us."

Ron simply shook his head and walked off in the other direction, his shoulders hunched and his feet scuffing the ground. He did not believe that Harry would come back. No one seemed to believe that Harry would come back.

Ginny turned to stare at the tent swaying forlornly in the wind. It was brown and ugly, like everything in the camp, but it drew her to it now with unparalleled magnetism. She sucked in a deep breath and entered the tent. A few healing odds and ends littered the makeshift cabinets, but it was the man lying in the bed that caught her attention. Once, he'd been full of life: an unruly teen with messy black hair and a crooked smile. Now the only recognisable thing about him was the lightning bolt scar etched onto his forehead.

A breath escaped her lips. Ron was right: Harry _was_ inches from death. The Boy Who Lived was practically a skeleton now. Bones stuck out everywhere from his emaciated body, barely concealed by the membrane of skin. His face was sunken, and his hair limp. She couldn't even remember the exact colour of his eyes; he hadn't opened them for four years. Whatever curse Voldemort had cast on Harry, it would not be broken. Countless healers had tried, but it was to no avail. Harry was dying, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Ginny sat on the stool next to the bed and smoothed the hair from his face. He felt so cold. A lump formed in her throat, and something wet rolled down her cheeks.

"Harry," she said. "Please, wake up. We need you." Her voice trembled. " _I_ need you."

Harry remained as still and silent as ever. It really was as if he were dead for all the movement he made. Ginny couldn't take it. She couldn't take staring at his wasted face each day, knowing that the man she'd promised so much to was slipping from her grasp.

" _So, you're going away again," Ginny observed._

 _Her gaze was fixed towards the distance where a bloody battle had just been fought._ _She didn't need to turn to know that it was Harry standing behind her. Truth be told, she was afraid of what she would see if she did. He had already let her go once; she did not want him to do it again._

" _I have to go, Ginny," Harry said in what he must have thought was a comforting voice, but it only made her heart break that little bit more. "You understand, don't you?"_

 _Ginny blinked back the tears that threatened to escape. She turned to face Harry, giving him a brave nod._ _"_ _I understand. You're the only one who can end this."_

 _Harry seemed to sense that she was not happy. He grasped her hand._ _"_ _When this war is over we'll be together. It'll just be you and me. I promise."_

 _The redhead looked down at the makeshift engagement ring on her finger. A smile curved her lips. "I know, Harry." Her eyes flicked back to his. "Just come back to me, okay?"_

 _Harry smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips, leaning his forehead against hers as he broke away._ _"_ _Don't worry. I will."_

"But the war never ended," Ginny said bitterly, clutching the ring that now hung from her neck on a silver chain, "and I'm still waiting for you to come back."

The tent door opened. Madam Pomfrey walked in with a basket of medicines clutched in her ample arms. "Oh, I didn't know you were in here, dear."

Ginny wiped the tears from her eyes and stood up. She hoped that Madam Pomfrey had not heard anything. "I was just checking on him. You're going to administer the medicine now?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded and proceeded to give Harry the medicine that never worked. "It's getting harder to get medicines with all the Death Eater raids," she said with a sigh. "Did you know that the wastelands were attacked again last week? As if those poor people haven't been through enough."

"I still can't believe people live there," Ginny said, momentarily distracted from her own problems. "London was destroyed two years ago. Why cling to something that is no better than a pile of dust and ruins?"

"Maybe it's because they have nowhere else to go. Or maybe it's just because, no matter how bad things get, that place is still their home."

Ginny shrugged. "Maybe."

Madam Pomfrey smiled and picked up her basket. "Well, I'm off to do the rounds. The poor Muggles are being attacked left, right and centre, and there's only so much I can do."

"I'll help too."

The healer nodded gratefully, and the two women left the tent and headed towards the rather crude hospital that graced their campsite. There was no point in building anything long-lasting these days. The secrecy of the magical folk had been broken just months after the travesty that was meant to be the Final Battle. Now, Muggle and wizard alike sought refuge from the growing war. This camp was one of the few safeguards left in Britain, but even that could not protect the survivors from everything. The constant threat of Death Eaters made people wary to go anywhere alone. More than once the whole camp had been forced to pack up and relocate to a safer position.

Just as Voldemort had always wanted, the world had become a place of fear and bitterness. Guards stood at the outskirts of the campsite, always watchful for signs of an attack, while the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix tried their best to gather information and keep ahead of the raids. People fought over food, water and medicine. Even the smiles and laughter of children had been quickly stifled with the arrival of a problem far more serious than a lack of supplies: a strange disease had spread through the refugee camps, killing off Muggles one by one, and no cure could be found.

"Old Mrs Jenkins has caught the virus," Madam Pomfrey commented. "We moved her in today."

Ginny pulled back the flap to the healing tent and stared at the hundreds of beds set up in rows from one end to the other. Women, men and children lay suffering—most of them Muggles who had caught the disease otherwise known as Ink Scourge. No doubt Mrs Jenkins was in there somewhere as well. A few healers had already started doing the rounds, offering what they could to the patients in the way of relief. Madam Pomfrey and Ginny moved to take their own rows, both well accustomed to the routine.

Ginny stopped at the bedside of a raven-haired woman named Elise. This patient was one of her regulars: a solo-mum who'd been brought in three weeks ago when the black, ink-like splotches that gave the disease its name had first appeared on her skin. A few days later, Elise had been vomiting globs of blood and her organs started to fail. Still, Elise was one of the lucky ones. Little Sonja—the girl with the gap-toothed smile who had previously occupied bed number twenty-four—had only lasted three days. That was the nature of Ink Scourge; it attacked swiftly, invading the body with a violence and efficiency that was terrifying to behold. No one who caught the disease survived.

 _Enough_ , Ginny told herself. _This isn't the time to brood._

She forced a smile to her lips and moved closer to the bed. The black splotches were all over Elise's body now, like a tattoo smeared across the woman's skin. The sight didn't bother Ginny, but there were many who viewed the mark as a stigma—even a form of divine punishment. She'd heard of refugees who had converted to the Death Eaters because of the way Ink Scourge seemed to target Muggles. Bunch of cowards.

"How are you feeling today, Elise?" Ginny asked. "Are the pain relief potions still working for you?"

"I … I feel strange," Elise admitted. "It's like my body is on fire."

Ginny frowned and touched the woman's forehead. "You have a fever. I'm sure a Cooling Charm will help."

Elise shook her head and grasped Ginny's hand with her bony fingers, stopping the redhead from casting the spell. There was a strange sense of urgency about Elise's movements. Her pupils were dilated so wide that her irises had been swallowed in black. Not a good sign. Hallucinations were bound to kick in soon.

"My daughter," Elise said in a low, frantic voice. "Is she okay? Have you seen her?"

"Isabelle is doing well," Ginny said soothingly. "She'll grow up to be a fine witch."

Elise smiled, and a few tears gathered at her eyes. "I'm so glad I met you, Ginny. All of you. I would have never understood how special Isabelle is otherwise." Her chin quivered. "Please, tell her I love her."

Ginny squeezed the older woman's hand. "You can tell her yourself. She's been asking to visit you."

"No." Elise closed her eyes. "I don't want her to see me this way. I don't want her to—" She froze, and what little colour she had left drained from her face. The magical device keeping track of her heartbeat stuttered in its beeping rhythm.

"Elise?" Ginny fumbled for her wand, even as she frantically tried to diagnose what had gone wrong. "Hey, talk to me!"

"I—I feel so strange," Elise repeated, her voice so frail it was like thin paper about to shred. Her hand tightened around Ginny's in a convulsive motion, and a few more tears rolled down her cheeks. "I don't want to die."

"You're not going to die! I'm going to help you get through this, okay?"

Elise just stared at her in frightened silence. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Like a solar eclipse, all sense of awareness faded from the woman's eyes. There was no recognition. Nothing. The hand clutching Ginny's dropped to the bed with a thud. A long, monotonous beep reverberated from the magic device.

Ginny let out a shuddering breath. She had seen enough victims of Ink Scourge to know it was too late to try resuscitation methods. Once the heart failed, there was no coming back.

 _Call it_ , the healer in her ordered.

Bowing her head, Ginny noted the time of death on Elise's clipboard and pulled the sheet up to cover the woman's face. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Not that it mattered what she said to the raven-haired woman now. Just the thought made a bitter taste fill Ginny's mouth. Acrid and choking, it seeped down her throat, pooling like lead in her stomach. She was so damn tired of making apologies to corpses.

"Are you alright?" Madam Pomfrey asked, coming to stand beside the redhead.

Ginny shook her head. "I feel like I'm watching some macabre version of Musical Chairs."

So many Muggles had died in this tent. The beds were never empty; as soon as one was vacated, another victim of Ink Scourge came to fill the spot.

Madam Pomfrey placed her hand on Ginny's arm. "I know it's hard, but we just have to keep doing what we can." Her eyes softened. "Trust me, a cure will be found."

"How long will that take?" Ginny demanded, feeling the prickle of tears sting her eyes. "How many more children will become orphans? How many more people will lose their children, their wives, their husbands? Those of Muggle blood are being wiped out. I just can't sit here and watch them die!"

Madam Pomfrey gripped Ginny by the shoulders. "Look at me, Ginevra," she said sternly. "You have a great gift inside you. You were blessed with magic and have the ability to heal. If you give up now, who will help all of these people?"

"I—I just feel so helpless."

"I understand, but right now all we can do is try to ease our patients' suffering until a cure is found." She cupped Ginny's cheek, and a gentle smile curved her lips. "Have faith, child. All will be well."

Ginny sighed. Wasn't that almost the same advice she had given Ron earlier? Sure, it was easy to tell someone to have hope, but to actually live that way herself was so much harder.

"I'll try," she said.

Madam Pomfrey stared at her with a critical healer's eye. "Maybe you've been working too hard," she mused. "Why don't you have a break? Clear your head for a bit. I'll let Isabelle know what happened to her mother."

Ginny agreed that this was probably a good idea. Normally she would have put up more of a fight—especially when it came to disclosing a patient's death, knowing it was her responsibility—but in that moment she was just relieved to get away from all the death and misery of the tent. Losing Elise had been the proverbial straw on the camel's back. Ginny would go crazy if she stayed.

Muttering an apology, Ginny escaped the tent and walked aimlessly through the campsite. People and patchwork tents passed her in a blur; specks of colour that had no meaning. Her mind lingered with the woman she had failed to save. It was hard to shake the heavy weight that settled on her heart. Something in her must have known that she hadn't really wanted to be alone, though, for she found herself stopping outside the Fort. Not that the building resembled much of a stronghold. In reality, the Fort was just a shack where the soldiers ate their meals and slept, but at least it wasn't a tent.

Ginny entered through the wooden door and was surprised to find the place empty. Normally there were at least some soldiers lounging around the magically expanded space, but all the benches and tables in the eating area were vacant. All except one, that was. A genuine smile curved her lips when she spotted Remus sitting at a table in the far corner, drinking a cup of tea. He waved at her with his free hand.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Ginny," he greeted.

"I've been busy with healing duties."

"You look worn out," Remus observed. He patted the space next to him. "Care to have a chat with an old wolf for a while?"

Ginny smiled, grateful for his attempt to cheer her up. She sat down on the bench. "How's guard duty coming along?"

"So far it's been quiet," Remus said. "Too quiet, if you ask me. We saw some scouts in the area last month, but there's been no follow-up activity. The higher ups are insisting we've got nothing to worry about—that an attack would have happened by now had the Death Eaters succeeded in locating our position, but I can't say I like it."

"Maybe they weren't Death Eaters." She leaned her elbows on the table, propping her chin on her hands. "There's plenty of Nomads wandering about."

"They were Death Eaters, alright. We recognised one of them. Does the name Draco Malfoy ring a bell?"

She nodded. Of course she knew Draco Malfoy. Aside from attending Hogwarts together, he was known for being a leading figure in Voldemort's inner circle. The Tactician, people called him: the Death Eater who fought his battles like games of chess, always one step ahead. Not that Ginny had actually crossed wands with him. She only knew about his rise to power because, up until two years ago, she had also been an agent for the Order.

The truth was that Ginny had never wished to become a healer. She'd always wanted to fight—to use her magic to punish those who had made the world so ugly and upside down. But then Charlie had got injured while they were on a reconnaissance mission, and Ginny had been forced to watch her brother die in her arms. After that, she had switched to learning how to heal. It had just made sense. All the offensive power in the world didn't mean jack if she couldn't save the people she loved when it mattered.

"Ginny?"

"Sorry," Ginny said, shaking off the bitter memories. "I spaced out."

The door burst open and a young wizard rushed inside, his eyes wild with fear. "Lupin, we need you! The camp is being attacked! Bastards blocked our communication spells so we couldn't sound the alarm. Now the Death Eaters are everywhere!"

Ginny and Remus exchanged startled glances. A second later Remus was on his feet and clutching his wand.

"You coming?" he asked.

Ginny nodded and followed the two men outside. Magic flashed through the campsite in jets of light as refugees and soldiers fought against the swarm of masked figures. Purples, reds, golds, greens—the colours flashed before Ginny's eyes like some macabre fireworks display. It was beautiful, and deadly.

"They're coming from the other side!" Tonks yelled, valiantly fighting off two Death Eaters at once. "We're going to be overwhelmed if we don't do something!"

An explosion spell shook the earth. Ginny staggered and missed what Remus said in reply. Her ears were ringing. Bodies pushed and shoved against her, cutting her off from the others. Everything was moving too fast. She couldn't keep up. It was as if the adrenaline hadn't kicked in yet, making her sluggish and out of sync.

Had she really got this rusty?

Ginny's pulse throbbed in her neck. She took a deep breath and ran after the others, but her foot got caught on a corpse. Her body swayed, stomach lurching. The ground rushed towards her in a sickening blur. She placed her hands out to stop from hitting face first. Not fast enough. Pain seared through her leg; a jagged piece of rock had punctured the limb.

"Damn it!" Ginny hissed.

No one had noticed her fall. Remus and Tonks were caught up with defending themselves from a group of Death Eaters. The young wizard who had found them in the Fort lay crumpled on the ground not far from her. His body was in pieces. Literal pieces. Bile rose to Ginny's throat, but she forced it back down. She would _not_ vomit.

Gritting her teeth, Ginny clamped her hand over the torn flesh on her leg. Blood blossomed under her fingers, warm and pulsating. She needed to heal herself fast.

"Wand?" she muttered, glancing around the clearing. "Where's my wand?"

Somehow, the wand had slipped from her grasp when she had fallen. Her heart quickened, practically ramming itself against her ribs. This was not good. She was injured and defenceless. To make matters worse, she was right next to the edge of the campsite where the shimmering barrier that was supposed to protect them from attacks like this had been breached. She needed her wand.

"Damn it!" Ginny cried in a choked voice, tears prickling her eyes. " _Accio_ wand! _Accio_ wand!"

It was a desperate act. Wandless magic was almost impossible to control, let alone conjure on command. But power still thrummed within her. She could feel it there, waiting to be used. It surged through her emotions, her fingers, reaching out for the thing she desired.

 _Please!_

Something moved from out of the corner of her eye. The motion had been like a half-hearted flop, but it was enough to reveal the object that lay on the ground: a dark piece of wood with a pointed tip and a spiral-carved handle. Ginny grinned and crawled towards her wand, wincing at the bursts of pain that assailed her nerves every time she moved her injured leg.

"Almost there," she said, reaching out her hand.

A booted foot stepped on the wand before she could make contact. Her heart stilled then lurched, as if it were trying to jump into her throat. She raised her eyes to see a masked Death Eater standing over her.

"How careless of you, Weasley," the Death Eater said. "You should know better than to drop your wand in battle."

"Malfoy!" Ginny growled.

There was no way she could mistake that aristocratic drawl. Even if he hadn't taunted her as much as Ron back in school, she would never forget Draco Malfoy's voice.

Malfoy crouched in front of her and picked up the wand he had trapped under his boot. "Looks like you've got yourself injured as well," he observed, taking in the gash on her leg, which was still pumping out blood. He made a tutting sound. "My, my, you are in a pathetic position."

Ginny glared at him, even as her heart fluttered in a hiccupping beat of fear. He was enjoying watching her squirm far too much. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

His eyes glinted behind the slits in his mask. "What I came to do, of course."

She swallowed and couldn't help but shrink away from him. If only she had her wand. If only she had a means to protect herself. The loss of blood was making her light-headed. She'd barely be able to stay conscious soon.

Ginny ran her fingers along the ground, hoping to find a rock or something she could use as a weapon. All the pads of her fingers encountered were dust and a few bits of gravel. Too small. Too harmless. She gritted her teeth and met the shadowed gaze of her tormentor. Green light shot into the sky behind him like a flare, lighting up the centre of the campsite where the make-shift hospital and healing tents were kept. Malfoy stilled and stared at the light for a moment before he got to his feet. He pocketed her wand and then aimed his own at her face.

"Well, I guess this will be an easy victory," he said, and she could almost hear the smirk in his voice. "No hard feelings, eh?"

Without warning, he cast a spell that seemed to consist of white mist. Ginny screamed at her body to move—to roll to the side or at least do something, but it was as if she had been paralysed. She could not move. She could not _move._

"GINNY!"

Ginny blinked as a shield pulsed in front of her in translucent blue. The mist vaporised a heartbeat later. She turned her head to see Ron sprinting towards her. He fired a disarming spell at Malfoy, who deflected it with a simple flick of his wand. That's right; she'd heard that Malfoy had mastered non-verbal spells.

"Well, if it isn't my favourite oaf," Malfoy said, dipping his head in mocking acknowledgement. "I wondered if you were going to show up."

"You double-crossing bastard!" Ron screamed. "I'll kill you!"

Malfoy tilted his head to the side, deflecting yet another hex with a non-verbal spell. "Double-crossing?" he repeated. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb!" Ron's chest heaved as he fired hex after hex. "Because of you—because of you, Harry was—"

"I only gave back what you deserved," Malfoy cut in, his voice cold and harsh like the lash of a whip. "If anything, it was you and your friends who crossed _me._ "

"We didn't have a choice! There was no time to check if—"

"Spare me the excuses!" Malfoy shifted into an offensive stance. "You made your bed, Weasley. Now you get to lie in it."

Magic crackled in the air, making the hairs on the back of Ginny's neck and arms prickle. She could feel the dark power rising within the Death Eater, like the writhing, violent energy of a lightning bolt about to be released.

"Ron!"

The scream was wrenched out of her. Gone was the pain in her leg. Gone was the dizziness. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, giving her the speed she needed. Her hands closed around Malfoy's arm, and she yanked back hard just as black light surged out of his wand in a roiling mass. All the breath got caught in her lungs. She watched with her heart in her throat as the curse seethed towards her brother—

And continued past him into the darkness.

Malfoy's arm flexed underneath her hands, almost like a muscle spasm. His anger was so tangible that she could feel it rolling off him in thick, cold waves. "That was very stupid of you, Weasley," he murmured.

His non-verbal spell hit her with the force of a Bludger. Ron screamed her name, but by then she was already falling. Black dots swarmed in front of her eyes. She didn't know if she had hit the ground yet. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. Her body was numb.

 _What the hell did he hit me with?_

Ginny gripped the ring hanging from her neck and tried to stay conscious. Something fell in front of her. A body? Her mind was too sluggish to work it out. The black spots were getting thicker, like a layer of fog enclosing around her mind. Her eyelashes fluttered shut, and then there was only darkness.

 **oOo**

Light filtered from somewhere, teasing at Ginny's consciousness. Her eyelashes fluttered. She opened her eyes and squinted against the sudden glare. Her head throbbed in tiny spams of pain. Wincing, she sat up and traced her fingers over the back of her skull. Yep, there was the lump. This was not the kind of déjà vu she enjoyed. It seemed like only hours ago that she had done the same.

A sigh escaped her lips. She rested her chin on her knees and gazed about the tent. Wait. This wasn't a tent. Instead, she found herself sitting on a bed in a fully furbished room, complete with a dresser, a wooden stool, and a chamber pot that reeked of human waste. Even the bed stunk of stale sweat and a scent that Ginny was certain she did not want to know the cause. It didn't take a genius to figure out why scratch marks had been gouged into the headboard.

Sticky fear crept over her skin. Okay, she definitely wasn't at the campsite.

Ginny got off the bed and wobbled in drunken-like steps to the door. Damn Malfoy. It seemed that her body had not recovered from the spell he'd cast on her, though someone had healed her leg. Whatever. Ginny gritted her teeth and tugged on the handle; the door didn't budge. Not really surprising, given the prison-like feel of the place, but that didn't stop her from giving the handle a few more tugs and then the door itself a solid kick.

"Stupid thing!" she panted, glowering at the locked and probably magically sealed door.

So, she was trapped in some strange, sordid room. Just brilliant. Ginny sighed and walked back to the bed, collapsing on it in exhaustion. The throbbing in her head had still not ceased, but it was the overwhelming dizziness that really bothered her. Even if she wanted to break herself out of the room, she simply did not have the strength. Malfoy had her wand, and she had already wasted too much energy just trying to open the door without magic. She would just have to wait until the blond bastard turned up and told her what was going on, for she had no doubt that it was Malfoy who had kidnapped her.

Ginny's brow furrowed as she stared at the ceiling. In her mind, she replayed the events that had occurred before she got hit with the spell. Had Malfoy been planning to capture her all along? He had seemed to be toying with her rather than trying to kill her. And what had that whole argument between him and Ron been about anyway? Something to do with double-crossing.

Her heart lurched. _Ron_. Gods, what had happened to her brother? He'd been trying so hard to protect her; there was no way that he would have let Malfoy stroll off her with her unconscious body.

A lock unclicked. Ginny's eyes darted to the door. "Mal—" she began in a furious voice.

The rest of his name got choked in her throat. The man who entered was not Malfoy. He was bald, muscular, and his mean little eyes leered at her in a way that made her skin crawl. She almost wished that he was wearing the Death Eater mask; at least then she wouldn't have to see his ugly face or expression.

Ginny unconsciously shivered and sat up on the bed. She wrapped her arms around her in a protective gesture. If only she had her wand.

"Well, well," the man said in an oily voice that made Ginny want to shrink into herself. "Looks like you're finally awake."

She swallowed and clutched her knees tighter to her chest. The way he stared at her made her feel like an animal trapped in a cage. Or just want to retch. He was so disgusting that she could practically feel the dirtiness of his thoughts sliding up against her skin.

"You've been unconscious for nearly a day now," he continued. "I was getting worried. I wanted to have a bit of fun with you before our leader came back." His expression misted over with a scowl. "Bastard never lets us enjoy the spoils."

Ginny stiffened. If looks could kill, this man would have died instantly. Not that he cared. Instead, he laughed and walked closer, reaching out to grip her chin between his fingers. She tried to wrench her face away, but he jerked her head back so that she was forced to look up at him.

"You're better looking than the others we've had," he observed in a low, excited voice. "I know I'm going to enjoy this."

Suddenly, he pushed her down against the bed. A frightened shriek escaped her lips. She twisted and struggled, but his hands were like meaty weights. She couldn't break free. The man laughed and pinned her underneath his bulk, perhaps even enjoying the way she thrashed underneath him. She could feel his erection. Panic welled within her.

"Get off!" Ginny screamed.

She bit down on his arm as hard as she could. He yelped and backhanded her in the face, knocking her back with such force that she almost blacked out. Pain. So much pain. It clouded her mind like a fog, whispering for her to sleep.

"Don't you go passing out on me." The man's breath was hot on her ear. "I want to hear you scream."

Ginny blinked in a daze. The sound of ripping fabric penetrated her mind. She squirmed, shocked into alertness as she realised that he had torn open her robe and undergarments. Goosebumps prickled along her exposed skin. He laughed and spread her legs, even as he fumbled with his trousers. Angry tears leaked from her eyes. This disgusting man was going to steal her virginity. Any moment now he would force himself inside her, and there would be nothing she could do to stop it. No matter how much she kicked and shoved, scratching and thrashing to get him off her, it was like trying to stop a waterfall with her bare hands. He was just too strong, and she was too weak.

Suddenly, the door burst open. In a few quick strides someone had yanked the man off Ginny and thrown him to the floor. A sob escaped her lips. She raised her eyes to her saviour, half terrified, half relieved. The person had his back to her—yes, definitely male with that figure—but the white-blond hair told her enough.

"Get up, pig!" Malfoy ordered.

The man groaned, rubbing his elbow where he had hit the ground. "I was just having a bit of fun," he tried to excuse himself.

Malfoy grabbed the brute by the throat. "I thought I specifically told you not to touch her," he said in a voice of ice-encased steel. "What part of 'don't touch' didn't you understand?"

The man's eyes bulged with fear. His skin took on a purple sheen from the lack of oxygen.

"Don't cross me again, Smith," Malfoy warned. "I mean it."

Smith nodded to show that he understood. Malfoy released his throat, letting the man collapse back to the ground. Smith immediately started coughing and rubbing his bruised windpipe.

"Forgive me, sir," Smith apologised greasily, though his eyes still lingered with malevolence. "It won't happen again."

Malfoy laughed. The sound made the hair on Ginny's neck rise. "Of course it won't. We both know what will happen to you if you do."

Some of the colour drained from Smith's cheeks. He bowed quickly and then shot a final glare at Ginny before he left the room. Ginny just sat there in jittery shock, clutching what was left of her robe together to cover her nakedness. Her cheeks were damp with tears.

"Here," Malfoy said.

A bundle of black cloth landed in her lap. She blinked, realising it was the cloak he had been wearing.

Malfoy folded his arms across his chest. "What are you waiting for? I don't plan on dressing you."

Heat flooded to her cheeks. She fumbled to remove her ripped garments and put on his cloak. Malfoy kept his gaze averted as she pulled the thick fabric around her. The cloak was soft and warm, easing some of the shocky chill that Smith's touch had triggered in her body. It even smelt good, though she couldn't place the scent. Something woodsy and masculine, with a hint of soap. Somehow, that bothered her. Bastard might have saved her from getting raped, but that didn't mean she wanted to start having positive thoughts about Malfoy or his scent. He was the reason she was stuck in this prison.

"Why am I here?" Ginny demanded, forcing herself to speak past the lingering distress that had choked her voice. "What can you possibly want from me?"

Malfoy's expression closed off. "Your food will be brought to you three times a day," he said, as if she had not spoken. "I suggest you—"

"Hold it!" Ginny stood up, closing the distance between them. "Don't you dare ignore me!"

Steel-grey eyes narrowed a fraction. "I'm simply telling you what you need to know."

She jutted her chin. "Don't take me for an idiot, Malfoy. If you think I'm just going to sit back and let you feed this dictatorial crap to me, you've got another thing coming!"

There was a pause as they stared at each other: him assessing; her challenging.

Malfoy let out a breath. "Fine," he said with a shrug. "It's not like it matters. You're here because I was ordered by the Dark Lord to capture you."

Her heart stuttered. "V-Voldemort? But why?"

"I don't know," Malfoy admitted. His gaze skimmed over her in a critical way, stripping her bare to expose her flaws. "I can't say that I see anything special about you, but I guess the Dark Lord thinks you have something to offer."

Ginny swallowed. Unease twisted in her gut, reminding her of the handsome boy who had almost killed her when she was eleven; the way he had sucked the life out of her like a parasite and forced her to do terrible things. But no, that was Tom Riddle. The memory who lived in the book and the man who commanded the Death Eaters today were two different people. Voldemort had never shown any interest in her.

It wasn't the same. It _wasn't_.

Ginny exhaled shakily. "W-well, I don't know about that," she said, trying to sound braver than she felt. "Regardless, you're kidding yourselves if you think I'm going to cooperate. I don't help Death Eaters."

Malfoy tilted his head to the side, almost like a curious bird. "You say that as if you think you have a choice in the matter. How naïve of you."

Her mouth twisted. "Whatever. It doesn't matter what Voldemort has planned; there's no way that Ron will let you get away with kidnapping me. He'll come to save me with the Order. You'll see."

Malfoy's expression went flat, as if a screen had been pulled over his thoughts. "Your brother isn't coming, Weasley."

"You don't know tha—"

"He's dead."

The words struck her like a punch of gravity. She reeled, chest constricting to crush her ribs, her lungs. It was so hard to breathe.

"What?" she asked in a small voice.

"Your brother is dead," Malfoy repeated. "He won't be coming to save you."

Ginny's chin quivered. "You're lying."

Malfoy's eyes slid away from hers, refusing to meet her gaze. The pieces started to come together then. Malfoy and Ron arguing. The body that had fallen before she had blacked out.

"It was you, wasn't it?" She clenched her hands into fists. "You bastard! I'll kill you! I'll—"

He caught her wrist before she could make contact with his face. Ginny's whole body trembled, her breasts rising and falling with every ragged breath. She tried to hit him with her other fist, but he just stopped her hand with his palm.

"Don't," Malfoy warned.

It was too much. Ginny choked on a sob, hiccupping as she struggled to breathe through her rage and grief. Her throat burned. Her eyes burned. Everything burned. She wanted to lash out at him—to tear at his face and rip off his composure—but his grip was like iron manacles. There was nothing she could do. Ron was dead. Her brother was _dead_ , and there was nothing she could do, and—and—

Her legs buckled. She slumped to her knees, arms raised limply above her head from where the blond still held her wrist and hand. "How could you?" she cried, voice cracking with raw emotion. "Ron was all I had left."

Malfoy released his grip, letting her hands drop to her lap. "He was in my way."

There was nothing taunting about his tone. The blond was just stating a fact. He and Ron had fought, and it was Ron who had lost; it was as simple as that.

But it wasn't. It wasn't at all.

Ginny bowed her head, tears slipping unchecked down her cheeks. "I hate you," she whispered.

Malfoy just turned his back on her. "It looks like you need some time alone," he said coolly. "I'll be back later."

His boots retreated from her line of vision. She heard the door shut behind him and the lock click back into place. The silence that followed seemed to rip apart a dam of emotion inside her. All the grief spilled over: the knowledge that her brother was dead; the cringing remembrance of the violation she had suffered in this very room; the fear of wondering what Voldemort had planned for her. It was all too much.

Ginny curled up into a ball on the ground, sobbing in great, shuddering gasps. It was a long time before she stopped.


	2. Memory

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* * *

 **Memory**

Two days had passed. There was no window in the room Ginny now called home, so she kept track of the hours by counting her meals, which were brought to her three times a day. The food usually consisted of bread and soup, but at least she wasn't left to starve. The Death Eaters even made a point to keep her well-hydrated, giving her a fresh jug of water with each meal, along with a cloth to use in case she wanted to clean herself up a bit. So considerate of them.

Ginny's mouth twisted. She knew it was Malfoy pulling the strings. No doubt he thought he could get her to soften up if she was treated well. As if. The Death Eaters would always be scum. Still, it was true that nothing bad or overly distressing had happened to her since the first day when Smith tried to rape her. Most of the time she was left alone, gnashing her teeth and pacing up and down inside the four walls of her prison like some caged animal. Other times, Malfoy would come to visit her for a "chat", which was really just a euphemism for an interrogation.

That was how they came to be sitting across from each other a few minutes later.

Malfoy leaned forward on the stool, staring at her through slightly narrowed eyes. "Don't you think this silent act of yours is getting old?" he said. "You could save us both a lot of trouble if you cooperated."

Ginny didn't spare him a glance. Instead, she stretched her arms in a leisurely way and got into a more comfortable position. It was an open act of dismissal—the same she had been performing whenever the blond came to visit. She had no wand to fight him, nor any means of escape, so this was her way of making a stand: silence and indifference. Malfoy could not make her talk, and she was letting him know it.

Malfoy tapped his finger against his leg. "Still nothing, huh?"

The silence dragged out between them. Ginny examined her fingernails and smothered a yawn. A muscle twitched in Malfoy's jaw. He'd always shown tiny signs of irritation when she refused to acknowledge him, but today it seemed that he was finding her particularly grating. Ginny had to repress a grin. Good, she was getting to him.

"I suppose you think you're very clever," the blond observed, leaning back into a more relaxed position.

 _Yes_ , she wanted to say.

"But you miscalculated."

Ginny's gaze flickered involuntarily in his direction. Malfoy's eyes glinted at her reaction and he stood up.

"The success of your plan is built upon the premise that I won't hurt you," he explained, slipping his hands in his pockets and closing the distance between them in calm, unhurried steps. "You think that if you stay silent, I will eventually give up and stop questioning you."

She swallowed. Yes, that was true.

He stopped in front of her, and he lowered his head so that they were at eye level. "I'm sorry, Weasley, but I don't remember making that promise."

Her heart stuttered in her chest. The next second, chains had lashed around her wrist and ankles, dragging her back against the bed so that she was lying flat on her back. She struggled to break free, twisting and yanking at the chains, but the manacles only tightened into her flesh. A hitched little sound escaped her throat. Gods, it hurt.

"So," Malfoy said coolly, "let's try this again, shall we?" He aimed his wand at her. "How many agents are still active within the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Get fuc—"

The manacles glowed, heating up in a flash so that it felt like the iron was on fire. So hot. Her skin blistered and burned. She gritted her teeth to stop herself from screaming. It hurt. It hurt so much.

The spell lifted. Ginny slumped against the bed, sweat gathering between her shoulder blades and on her forehead. Her wrists and ankles felt raw, throbbing in spasms of agony. It was all she could do not to cry.

"Don't make this harder for yourself, Weasley," Malfoy advised. "You can still spare yourself further pain. Just tell me what I want to know."

She inhaled shakily, trying to catch her breath as she glared at the blond. There was no emotion in his expression; it was obvious he got neither pleasure nor displeasure from the torture he inflicted upon her. Only his eyes held any trace of life: a hardened edge of resolve that could not be broken.

Fine. If he wanted her to talk to him that badly, then she'd talk.

Ginny closed her eyes. "Five times three is fifteen," she began in a monotonous voice. "The _Wingardium Leviosa_ charm is a spell to make objects fly. Grindylow bites are best treated with—"

"The hell?" Malfoy took a step towards her. "What nonsense is this? Some kind of code?"

A vicious grin curved her lips. "You wanted me to give you information. That's exactly what I'm doing."

His eyes narrowed. Apparently, he didn't like being taken for a fool. He placed his hand against the headboard, leaning over her with his lip slightly curled. "You're treading a fine line, Weasley."

"Do your worst, Malfoy," she hissed, baring her teeth. "I'm not scared of you."

There was a long pause as they glared at each other. Tension crackled between them—charges of energy pulsing in the air and prickling along her body. He was close. Close enough that she could see the tiny flecks of blue in his irises; close enough to feel the frustration that simmered under his skin, like a coiled snake waiting to spring. Smugness radiated within her. The bastard wasn't so calm now.

"Are you sure you want to test me?" he asked in a low voice.

Ginny jutted her chin. "Torture me all you like. I'll never help Death Eater scum like you."

Something shifted in his expression. It was as if a crack had formed in his pleasant veneer and the emotions he'd been containing were leaking through, hardening his features into something ugly. Something dark. A chill crept down her spine, but then the shutters came down. His brow smoothed, and he stepped back from her with all his usual composure.

"I see," he said evenly. "That's too bad."

Ginny raised her eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're disappointed. Did you forget the part where you kidnapped me and murdered my brother? You've got to be an idiot if you think I'd willingly do anything for you."

Malfoy shook his head. "You misunderstand."

The manacles vanished. Ginny blinked as warmth encircled her wrists and ankles—not burning like before, but mild and soothing. The blistered, angry redness faded, and her skin knitted itself back together, becoming smooth and whole again. Her burns had been healed.

"W-what?" she stammered, examining the unmarred skin. Her gaze darted to the blond. "What are you—"

"I had hoped it would not come to this," he said softly, and her breath caught when she saw a different wand in his hand: long, jet-black, and with a spiral-carved handle.

"My wand!"

The words were wrenched out of her before she could stop herself. She sat forward on the bed, fingers clenching the blanket. It took everything in her not to reach for the strip of wood. Already, she could feel the magic humming in her blood, reacting to the siren's call of her wand.

Ginny licked her lips. A nervous gesture. "What are you planning?" she asked. "What are you going to do?"

Malfoy stared at her with no emotion. "I'm tired of this war, Weasley," he said in a dead voice. "I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of watching people die. I'm so damn tired of it all." His eyes hardened, and she could see the cracks forming in his mask again, unable to contain the dark resolve that writhed within him. "That's why I'll do whatever it takes. I'll kill, I'll torture—I'll destroy every bit of resistance that is left." He held her wand in between his hands. "I'll even break you if that means getting the information I need to end this war."

In one swift motion, he pulled down hard on her wand. The resounding crack seemed to echo right through her, like a hollow boom that went straight to her heart. Wood splintered and tore, peeling away from itself in jagged bits of black. The shards fell before her eyes, but they never touched the ground. Flames rose to catch the fragments, turning all into fluttering grey snow.

"Enjoy your victory," Malfoy said, turning his back on her. "I will not question you further today, but I will be back tomorrow. I suggest you rethink your decision to remain silent."

The door shut behind him with a far too loud click. Ginny didn't move. Instead, she stared with wide eyes at the pile of ash on the ground. Something warm and wet rolled down her cheeks. Her body felt numb. Shaky. Her wand—the wand that had chosen her out of all others, and the only link she had to channelling her magic—was gone. Snapped in half and reduced to ash. Just like that.

"Bastard," she whispered in a trembling voice.

Losing her wand was like losing a piece of her soul. He had known it, too. That's why he had done it, because he had realised that physical pain would not move her.

" _I'll even break you if that means getting the information I need to end this war."_

Rage twisted her features. She clenched her hands into fists, breathing so hard that it was like a snarl was caught in the sound. "So, you think you can break me?" she gritted out through clenched teeth. "You think I'll just fold over in surrender if you torture me and destroy my wand?" She smacked her fist against the bed. "Think again, Malfoy! I won't give into you! I won't, damn it!"

The bastard would pay. He would absolutely pay for what he had done. Thinking he could break her. Claiming it was all so he could end the war. He was just a psychotic Death Eater with no heart.

Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks, and she raised her face to ceiling, squeezing her eyes shut. "You hear me, Malfoy?" she screamed. "I'll kill you before I ever lift a finger to help you!"

It was a promise—to him and to herself. Somehow, she would get out of this place. She would make her escape, because she refused to let Malfoy break her. She would never betray her friends. Not for him, and not for anyone.

She would be strong.

 **oOo**

The chamber was dark. Carved snakes loomed above Ginny in a circle, rising from the dirty water that lapped at her knees. Bodies floated on the surface of the water like discarded mannequins who had lost their strings. She turned over the closest and let out a choked cry. It was Ron. A quick search of the others revealed the rest of her family. All lifeless. All beyond saving.

Ginny stumbled backwards, collapsing onto the slick concrete that had been built up like an altar. Her fingers brushed against the binding of a well-worn book. Tom's journal.

" _Let me in, Ginny. I'll make the pain go away for you."_

"No!" Ginny clamped her hands over her ears. "You can't control me!"

She had banished Tom from her soul. She wasn't that weak girl craving for attention anymore. She was so much stronger now.

Malfoy crouched in front of her. "Stupid girl. You don't even have a wand. What can you hope to achieve?"

Ginny glanced down and saw that her wand had been turned to ash. The silky fragments slipped through her fingers, falling into nothing. Just like that the chamber and Malfoy blurred out of focus. She was back in the room where the Death Eaters held her prisoner; back to having Smith push her down against the bed, ripping off her clothes and forcing her legs apart.

" _Don't you go passing out on me. I want to hear you scream."_

Ginny sat up with a gasp, flinging her arm out in a warding gesture. Nothing was there. No Smith. No chamber. Nothing. Cold sweat coated her skin, and her heart pounded against her ribs as if trying to force itself out of her chest. A dream. It was just a dream.

"Are you questioning me, Hawkins?"

Ginny blinked. That was Malfoy's voice. She got off the bed and walked towards the door, placing her ear against the keyhole.

"Everyone else is saying it, too," another man said, who she assumed had to be Hawkins. "They're calling you a blood-traitor sympathiser."

Malfoy's response was too soft to hear, but it must have annoyed Hawkins. The Death Eater's voice got louder and more antagonising.

"Who are you to judge our actions?" Hawkins demanded. "You think you can do what you like because the Dark Lord favours you now, but we all know what your family is like!" An ugly laugh. "I heard you actually begged the Dark Lord to spare that double-crossing mother of yours. Begged, like a dog. If you were truly loyal to the cause, you would have killed the bitch yourse—"

There was a yelp, and then something thudded against the door.

"I think I have proven my loyalty more than enough," Malfoy said in a hard voice. "More so than a low-ranked nobody like yourself who's only purpose is to act as spell fodder."

"Why you—"

Another yelp. Another thud.

"Are you sure you want to go against me, Hawkins?"

Silence. Ginny could imagine that Malfoy probably had his wand pointed at the Death Eater. Perhaps his eyes were just as dark as they had been when he had glared at her, saying an echo of almost the same words.

" _Are you sure you want to test me?"_

Ginny gritted her teeth. The inner squabbling between Death Eaters meant nothing to her. All she cared about was the fact that Malfoy had destroyed her wand; he had threatened to break her. No doubt he was planning to enter the room and resume interrogating her as soon as he had dealt with Hawkins. Just the thought filled her with rage. She refused to play the passive victim again.

Her eyes rested on the wooden stool near her bed. It was hard. Sturdy. One good whack might be enough to knock the blond out—maybe even kill him. He would be distracted after his conversation with Hawkins. He wouldn't be expecting an attack from her. It could work.

A vicious smile curled her lips. She picked up the stool and waited by the door, listening for the sound of Hawkins's retreat. She didn't have to wait long. Hawkins was obviously made of weaker stuff than her; he let himself be cowed into submission and even muttered an apology. Not that Malfoy seemed to appreciate the gesture.

"Just get out of my sight," the blond ordered with a bite of impatience. "I'm sick of looking at your face."

Another muttered apology, and then Ginny could hear footsteps slinking away down the corridor. She tightened her grip on the stool. A series of clicks told her that the door had been unlocked. The handle began to turn. She sucked in a breath and watched the door open; watched the blond cross through the gap with his gaze downcast.

 _Now_.

Ginny swung with all her might. There was a sickening thud of wood connecting with bone. Malfoy lurched and fell against the wall, slumping to the ground. No movement. No sound. His hair had slipped forward to veil his face, but that didn't matter. She couldn't afford to hesitate now.

Discarding the stool, Ginny crouched in front of the blond and started fumbling in his pockets. "Wand," she muttered. "Where's his wand?"

She'd be able to Disapparate or at least have a better chance of escape if she had his wand. Fingers suddenly latched onto her arm. Her breath hitched, and a second later she found herself flat on her back. Malfoy leaned over her, aiming his wand at her face while his free hand pinned both her wrists above her head in a bruising grip. His eyes were like steel fire: blazing yet harder than stone. Blood trickled from his forehead, seeping into his hair and tracing his features in rivulets of red. She must have split the skin when she'd hit him with the stool.

"Are you insane?" he demanded, tightening his grip. "Do you realise that if I had been anyone else, you'd be screaming in agony right now?"

Ginny raised her chin. "Like I care. I saw an opportunity, so I took it." Her voice took on a taunting tone. "Don't tell me you actually expected me to play the passive prisoner?"

Malfoy's fingers were like metal bands digging into her wrists, crushing the delicate bones. "Don't push your luck, Weasley. I don't have infinite patience."

"Then maybe you should just let me go, 'cause I meant what I said yesterday: nothing you do will make me submit. I'll fight you every inch of the way, to the point where you'll wish you never took me prisoner." She smiled sweetly, but the expression in her eyes could only be described as vindictive. "That's my promise to you, Malfoy."

His eyes narrowed. A few drops of blood slipped from the wound on his forehead and splattered onto her cheek. Both of them were breathing hard, their bodies pressed intimately against each other. Except there was nothing intimate about the situation. She was dancing on a tightrope with her taunts, and he was barely keeping himself in check. His anger was so tangible she could taste it on her tongue.

"Why are you so stubborn?" he gritted out through clenched teeth. "Why can't you just see that this is the only way? Aren't you sick of it, too? Don't you want the war to end?"

Ginny curled her lip. "There's nothing to be gained from the end you've envisioned, Malfoy. All you'll create is death. I don't want any part of that."

His mouth twisted into an ugly expression. "Fine. Then I'll just have to take the information from you myself!" He raised his wand, and Ginny felt the briefest moment of trepidation before he uttered an incantation: " _Legimens_!"

It was the most defiling experience to which she had ever been subjected. She could actually feel him probing her mind as he sorted through her memories. Thoughts on her time as a member of the Order. Painful images she had tried to bury.

" _Hold on, Charlie! Please, hold on! Help is on its way!"_

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut. The world faded into black, but it could not block the memories from playing in her mind like a slideshow. Charlie dying in her arms. Fred and George blown to pieces after the base where they had been broadcasting Potterwatch got hit by an explosion spell. Her friends. Her family.

" _They're targeting old pureblood families they see as blood-traitors. I hear they're particularly set on exterminating the Weasleys."_

" _You're in danger, Ginny."_

" _I'm not just going to run and hide!"_

Colours faded and morphed. She saw herself cradled in Remus's arms, sobbing and screaming that it wasn't fair. Her family was dead, and it wasn't fair.

" _I want them back! I just want them back!"_

Ginny took in a shuddering breath. More images formed. She saw Harry kneeling on one knee, proposing to her much younger and happier self. Suddenly, the memory changed and she was staring in horror as Harry's blood-covered body was carried into the healing tent.

" _Harry, wake up! Please, wake up!"_

The memories started coming faster and faster, almost as if Malfoy was getting impatient with his inability to find the information he wanted. Elise's wasted face flickered before her mind's eye, but that soon changed to the camp being overrun with Death Eaters. A body lying in pieces on the ground. Bile rising in her throat. Her wand trapped under a booted foot. Blood and screaming and colours exploding in the sky like fireworks.

Everything began to blur. When the images resettled, Ginny found herself trapped in a dark chamber with snake statues leering down at her. She was so small, so scared. A handsome boy stood in front of her. He smiled and placed the black book in her hands—

"NO!"

The force of her scream shattered the memory. For a moment she caught a glimpse of Malfoy's surprised face, and then images began to surge before her eyes once more.

A boy with white-blond hair was running and shrieking with glee down a corridor. Suddenly, a woman scooped him up into her arms, claiming her prize with a triumphant "I've got you now!" The sound drew a tall man out from a nearby room. His eyes were narrowed, but when he saw the woman and child laughing together, the stern expression softened into a smile.

" _You dote on him too much, Narcissa."_

The image started distorting; the people's faces faded in and out in a warped fuzziness, as if something was trying to cut off the connection. Bits and pieces of memory flittered together in a chaotic mess. Black robed figures standing in a circle; lightning flashing through the sky above the Astronomy Tower; the green light of the killing curse; a burning, Dark Mark tattoo; the boy's mother laughing, but then her laughter turned to loud, pained sobs.

Screaming. Death. Blood.

On and on it went, flashing before Ginny's eyes in distorted scenes. Finally, a memory burst forth so clear that she felt her brain protest at the vividness.

She was on a hillside surrounded by pagan ruins. A baby boy was lying naked on an altar in the centre, crying in a distressed way that suggested he didn't understand why no one had picked him up yet. Stars gleamed like tiny drops in the sky. The moon was a bloated disc, so full it was bursting with light.

Something was very wrong.

The baby wailed and reached out his chubby hands towards one of the black robed figures surrounding the altar. The person's face was covered by a skull mask, just like all the others who formed the circle. There was no way to identify them individually, but that didn't matter. It was obvious the people were Death Eaters. Not one of them moved to help the baby.

A strange, hissing sound started, almost lyrical in its construction. The circle parted to allow a tall man to walk towards the altar: a nightmare with a snake-like face and crimson eyes. No mask for the Dark Lord. In his hand, he held a jade stone that had been carved into the shape of a coiled snake. He placed the stone in front of the baby, still making those odd, hissing noises. No, not noises. He was speaking Parseltongue.

The stone pulsed with power and began to glow a dark, sinister green. Voldemort raised his arms up to the sky, as if to bring the very heavens down to his fingertips. The chanting got louder; the jade glowed brighter, so that the colour seemed to seep out of the stone like a toxic mist. It rose into the night, growing in its brightness until the sickly green seemed to surround the altar. Magic crackled. Ancient power whispered in the air. Voldemort let out a final hiss, and the light shot out from the stone and buried itself deep inside the baby's heart. The jade was left dull and lifeless.

For a moment there was silence. Even the baby had stopped crying. Then a gust of wind slipped through the circle, and the people came to life once more. Voldemort picked up the baby and held him out for the circle of Death Eaters to see, a twisted smile forming on his face—

"Enough!" someone shouted.

The image distorted once more into a confused muddle of people and images. A violent pain surged through her mind, and then the visions stopped completely. She blinked and saw Malfoy stumble backwards, one hand clutching his head. He landed in an inelegant heap on the ground, breathing heavily.

"Enough," he repeated.

Ginny said nothing. The words—questions—all got stuck in her throat. She had just witnessed his memories. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name. Not that Malfoy seemed in any state to reprimand her for the counter-invasion. He looked pale and oddly shaken. His hands trembled, and something wet glistened on his cheeks that wasn't blood. Somehow, the sight disturbed her more than anything she had seen in his mind. A murderer like him wasn't allowed to look so fragile.

So unbearably human.

"Mal—"

"Shut up!" His voice lashed at her like a whip. "Just—just shut up."

Ginny swallowed. Malfoy wiped some of the blood from around his eye and got to his feet. He inhaled a deep breath, as if trying to piece his fraying control back together, but there was no disguising the fear and confusion that lingered in his expression. For whatever reason, he looked just as disturbed as her. Ginny didn't understand. Not even she had reacted that badly to reliving her worst memories.

Their eyes met for a moment—a charged look brimming with questions from both sides. Then Malfoy tore his gaze away and left the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Ginny let out a breath she didn't realise she had been holding. What had just happened? She had seen into his memories after turning his spell back on him—that much was clear—but that didn't explain how she had done it. Uncontrolled magic of that calibre was supposed to be impossible. Stranger still, Malfoy had been so shaken by the experience that he had fled from her presence. Literally fled.

Something was off. Ginny couldn't place her finger on it, but instinct told her that she was missing an important piece of the puzzle. On top of that, there was just something so unsettling about the last memory she had witnessed in Malfoy's mind. The baby. The altar. The jade stone. Ginny did not know where Malfoy had been in that memory; all she knew was that watching the ritual had felt like peering into the abyss of evil. An endless, indescribable darkness. A nightmare captured in stone.

Ginny slumped against the ground. "What the hell is going on?"

But there was no one to answer her question, and Malfoy never did come back.

 **oOo**

Ginny awoke with a start, rubbing her side where she was sure she had just been kicked. A woman with long brown hair stood by her bedside, dressed in the black cloak that characterised the Death Eaters. The woman's eyes were a vivid blue—oddly reminiscent of the late Albus Dumbledore—though there was no twinkle in her irises. A frown tugged at Ginny's lips, and for a moment she just stared stupidly at her visitor.

"Get up," the woman ordered, folding her arms across her chest. "I haven't got all day, you know."

"Where's Malfoy?" Ginny asked, peering behind the brunette as if she might catch a glimpse of her usual minder.

"Why?" the woman asked with a sly smile. "Worried about him?"

Ginny flushed in confusion. "W-what?" she spluttered. "Why would I be worried about that bastard? I only—"

"Yeah, yeah." The woman waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Enough yabbering. Just get moving."

Ginny bit back a retort, though she made no effort to move. She wasn't sure if she liked this new captor. Teasing aside, the Death Eater was rather fidgety—a complete contrast to Malfoy's relatively calm disposition—and kept tugging on her hair, winding the coffee-coloured strands around her finger.

"Who are you?" Ginny demanded. "If you're here to take over the interrogation, you're wasting your time. I won't give up any information."

The woman laughed. "You're a feisty little thing, aren't you? No wonder Draco had such a hard time with you."

Ginny just glowered. The woman's smile widened.

"The name's Lara," she disclosed. "As for why I'm here, call it a favour. Draco didn't like the thought of leaving you in the care of the other Death Eaters while he was indisposed, so I'll be looking after you in his stead."

Indisposed? Had sharing memories unsettled Malfoy that much?

"You're lucky you got Draco, you know," Lara continued. "The others wouldn't have given a damn about you, but he's so finicky about how his female prisoners are treated. Says it offends his sensibilities or something." She laughed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Can't say I care either way. Our women get it just as bad from those so-called Light Fighters of yours."

"That's bull!" Ginny retorted, goaded into speaking. "Our soldiers would never do that. All we've ever done is try to protect ourselves!"

"Ha! That's the funniest thing I've heard all day!" Lara chuckled and looked down at Ginny with a pitying expression. "Do you honestly think that your men are so perfect and good? This is war, girlie, and war will make monsters out of everyone. Give 'em a bit of power and it doesn't matter who they were before; they'll all turn into unfeeling pigs sooner or later."

"That's not true."

Lara leaned forward. "Isn't it? And how do you know, Miss?"

"I—I just do," Ginny stammered.

"Well, let me tell you something, girlie. I've been to your camps and I've seen what your men do to the captured Death Eaters. They torture them just we like do, and if the prisoner happens to be female, you can bet that they'll have a bit of unholy fun with her." She shook her head and straightened to her full height. "Your soldiers aren't saints; some of them are worse than the brutes we've got here."

"I don't believe you."

"Then don't," Lara said with a shrug, "but you're living in a dream if you think the world can be divided into black and white. I'd say it's more grey myself." Her eyes gleamed in amusement. "But I don't deny that there are different shades of grey."

"Lara!" a voice called from outside. "The Dark Lord is asking for the girl!"

Lara rolled her eyes at the door. "Always so demanding," she muttered. "Well, come on then. Looks like the Dark Lord has finally decided to see you. He came back yesterday. Took us all by surprise, to be honest, but it was Draco who got the brunt of his black mood. Poor boy is still recovering."

"Lara!"

"I'm coming!" Lara bellowed, throwing another glare at the door. She sighed and shifted her attention to the redhead. Her eyes narrowed. "What are you still sitting around for? You don't want to keep the Dark Lord waiting, do you?"

Ginny scrambled to her feet and followed Lara out of the room. Her heart pounded in her chest, sickening and fluttering like the wings of a dazed bird. Corridors passed by her in a blur. Soon, she would be having an audience with Voldemort. It was terrifying—especially since she still had no idea what he wanted. All she knew was that Voldemort was the one who had ordered Malfoy to capture her.

Voldemort, who was the older form of the boy who had nearly stolen her soul.

"Here we are," Lara said, stopping in front of a door. She knocked three times and then waited.

"Come in," a smooth voice said from the other side.

Ginny shivered. She knew that voice very well. Though it was deeper and had matured, she could still recognise the lilting tones Tom had used on her when she was eleven.

Lara gave her back a small push. "Go on."

Ginny reached up shakily and turned the handle. The door swung open and there, waiting for her like a king on a throne, sat Voldemort. His crimson eyes gleamed, and a chilling smile curved his mouth.

"So, we finally meet again, Ginevra."


	3. Ancient Magic

This chapter is rated M for risqué situations and potential triggers. Consider this your heads up.

* * *

 **Ancient Magic**

Ginny stared at the man sitting on the gilt-edged chair. Well, if one could even call him a man. Voldemort was more monster than wizard: a demon with red slits for eyes and a flat, mutilated face that looked like someone had cut off all the protruding parts with a blade. There was no trace of the handsome boy who had tried to steal her soul; only the voice was the same. So disarming. So soft, like the drugging sweetness of an opium poppy. It was terrifying that he could still emanate such charisma even with his disfigured features.

Voldemort's mouth curved into a smile and he stood up from the chair. The sudden movement made her heart-rate spike. Slowly, he began to close the distance between them. She swallowed and resisted the urge to back against the door. There was a part of her—the part that had never recovered from being groomed and used by the boy who existed within the diary—who wanted to curl up in fear. Ginny stomped on that little girl with no remorse. Yes, she was afraid. She could admit it, but fear in itself wasn't a weakness. It was only if she let the fear paralyse her that it became a problem.

Ginny gritted her teeth. "Well, I'm here," she said, sounding much braver than she felt. "So, what is it that you want from me?"

Voldemort stopped in front of her. The smile still lurked in his eyes, as if he could see through her armour of bravado to the whimpering girl she hadn't quite been able to subdue. "There's no need to be so impatient, my dear," he said. "It is a rude guest who hurries her host."

She clenched her hands into fists. His smile widened, and he took a lock of her hair and raised it to his face, sniffing the red strands. Because that wasn't creepy at all.

"Ah," he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment. "I can feel the power sleeping inside you." He let her hair slip through his fingers.

Ginny's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

He laughed softly. "You have no idea how special you are, Ginevra. You're like a fledgling still learning how to use her wings, but I—" his eyes darkened "—I know exactly what your magic can do."

The creases deepened on her brow. Voldemort tilted her chin towards him, and it was as if an icy finger slid down her spine. His skin was so cold, like touching a corpse transitioning through algor mortis.

"I have waited a long time for this moment," he said, brushing his thumb caressingly against her bottom lip. "Ever since I realised who you were, I knew that I had to find you."

She wrenched her face away from his touch. "For what? You still haven't told me what you want."

He laughed. The sound sent another chill down her spine. "I admit it did not come to me at first. I considered manipulating you into serving me, but then you would still hold all that power yourself, and that was something I did not want." A hungry gleam lit up his eyes. "That was when I realised that I _did_ have a way to gain control of your magic."

Ginny recoiled without thinking, hitting her back against the door. The tiny thud sounded far too loud to her ears.

"You see, Ginevra," he continued in a pleasant voice, "there are only three people alive today who carry ancient magic in their veins. You are one of those people, as am I. The other is my servant, Draco Malfoy. Unlike the two of us, however, his power was given to him while he was a baby, not as a birthright. It is not the kind of magic that can be used through simple incantations; rather, it is something much more primal—more integral to his being." Voldemort chuckled. "You could almost say that he _is_ an enchantment, and that, Ginevra, is when I realised that I already had everything I needed to extract your magic."

"I don't understand."

He was speaking to her in riddles, yet there was something about his words that struck a chord. She recalled the memory she had seen in Malfoy's mind: the baby, the altar, the jade stone. There was a whisper of truth in those images. It told her that Voldemort was not lying; it told her that what she had seen was probably the ritual where Malfoy had been given his ancient magic. What she didn't know was how that magic fit with Voldemort's plan.

Voldemort smiled at her bewilderment. "Think of it this way: if Draco can be considered a form of dark magic, what would the effect be if I used that magic on you? You would be cursed, just as you would if I had used any other spell. However, because his magic is special, the results are also different."

"What are you saying?" Ginny demanded. She hated that her voice quavered.

"It's really quite simple. By cursing the root, I will curse the fruit." Voldemort ran his finger along her cheek, enjoying the way she squirmed. "Draco's magic works like an innate curse: it touches and corrupts everything vulnerable to it. That includes you, Ginevra. Your body. Your womb." He trailed his finger down her neck, skimming her fluttering pulse. "You will become the vessel that grants me eternal power."

Breath escaped her lips in a rush, as if the dread sneaking over her body had somehow snatched the air from her lungs. "W-what?" she stammered. "But that's just—there's no way that—"

"It's possible?" he supplied. "Oh, it is. Very much so. All I need is for Draco to get you pregnant. The curse will do the rest." A smile glinted in his eyes. "You should be happy. I'm giving you a chance to produce the most powerful dark magic this world has seen. You'll be creating history."

Ginny swallowed back her fear and revulsion. "That's nonsense! Even if Malfoy did get me pregnant, what good does it do you if my child has all that power? You still won't be able to use it yourself."

Voldemort stepped away from her and moved to the table where a bottle of wine and two glasses had been placed. He poured some of the red liquid into one of the glasses. "Have you ever wondered why witches were stigmatised as having sexual relations with the devil?"

"I thought it was just Muggles exaggerating things," she admitted cautiously.

"In some ways, yes, but it is true that witches once participated in sexual acts with the darkest of wizards for the specific purpose of getting pregnant." He offered the drink to her. "Wine?"

Ginny shook her head.

"Suit yourself." He placed the bottle on the table and then settled into a more relaxed stance, cradling the glass in his hand. "You see, Ginevra, once the child was born, the witches could sacrifice the baby by using the ritual of the Hadem Rhi, which would empower them with an even greater magic. The limitation lies in compatibility. The only way to take on the new power is if the child's innate magic has been turned dark. Light repels shadow, after all, and those who dabble in forbidden rituals cannot help but find their souls stained black."

"Of course you would know from experience," Ginny observed with a curl of her lip.

His mouth lifted at the corners. "I make no secret of the fact. A wizard with grand ambition must be willing to make the required sacrifices." He swirled the wine around his glass and took a sip. "Of course, in order to ensure that my body won't reject the magic I extract from you, it does mean that no ordinary child will work."

"Is that why you need Malfoy to be the father?" she asked, even as something cold and heavy settled in her stomach.

"Influencing magic at its core is not a simple matter," Voldemort explained. "Not even I can shift the attributes of a baby's magic from neutral to dark, but then my magic is not as pure as Draco's. He is truly unique. I could not believe my luck when I found him, for there was a child with all the innocence and blood purity needed to release the ancient power contained within the stone." Voldemort's eyes gleamed. "He is more than just a wizard, Ginevra; he is a living curse, and it is through him that I will take your magic."

Ginny gritted her teeth. "Yeah, I think I'll pass."

A soft laugh escaped his lips. "My dear, do you honestly think you have a choice?"

Visions of rape entered her mind. She remembered how terrified she had felt when Smith had pushed her against the bed: the way he had ripped off her clothes and spread her legs, overwhelming her with his strength. Would Malfoy do the same? The blond had hurt her in order to get information—even threatened to break her—but he had also been the one who had protected her from Smith. He had never hinted that he would do anything sexual to her.

" _You're lucky you got Draco, you know. The others wouldn't have given a damn about you, but he's so finicky about how his female prisoners are treated."_

Her throat was dry when she spoke. "Malfoy agreed to this?"

Voldemort's mouth thinned. "Draco has a stubbornness I did not anticipate."

Ginny didn't know why she felt relieved. It shouldn't have mattered whether Malfoy was willing to rape her or not. Voldemort certainly wasn't interested in discussing the details. He placed his wineglass on the table and turned on her with a grim expression.

"I cannot risk the sanity of Draco's mind by punishing him further," Voldemort said, removing his wand from his pocket. "You, on the other hand, I know I can break."

Ginny clenched her hands into fists. "You're wasting your time. I have no intention of helping you to create some demon spawn."

Voldemort smiled in a way that was belied by the malice glinting in his eyes. "No, Ginevra, you _will_ do this for me. If I cannot force him to take you, I will force you to take him. Either way, I am going to get that child."

He waved his wand at her. A cloudy presence settled over her mind, as if fog was wrapping around her thoughts. Her body relaxed. She had never felt so calm. Everything was fine, and all she had to do was listen to the smooth voice that told her to seduce Draco Malfoy.

Right. And maybe she'd learn to tap dance while she was at it.

Ginny brushed aside the cloak of languidness as easily as if it were a cobweb. "The Imperius Curse won't work on me," she said in a hard voice, meeting Voldemort's gaze.

Something flickered in the blood-red eyes. "So, you refuse to be my puppet," Voldemort said, sounding almost impressed. "You are indeed a stubborn witch, but I wonder how you will fare against this."

Pain slammed into her nervous system. She was on the floor before she even realised she had fallen, writhing and clutching her head where it felt like scorching needles were being stabbed through her skull. A half-choked scream escaped her throat. So, this was what it felt like to be on the receiving end of Voldemort's Cruciatus Curse. It was an agony beyond agony: an attack of invisible fire and sharpened points that seemed to pierce every nerve in her body. She felt like she was going to die.

Voldemort removed the spell and stared down at her twitching body. There was no pity in his expression. "Now then, perhaps you would like to reconsider your decision."

Ginny shakily pushed herself off the ground. Her mouth tasted like copper—at some point she had bitten her tongue—and there were tears tracing her cheeks. Still, for all that she trembled and struggled to stay upright, her eyes blazed with determination. She knew that Voldemort would probably keep torturing her to see if she would crack. There was a part of her that even wanted to submit, if only to ensure that she would never have to feel such pain again. Except she knew that he would not damage her. Not permanently. Like Malfoy, Voldemort _needed_ her. That gave her some leverage—at least enough to put her life in a more secure position.

"You're wasting your time," Ginny repeated. "I'll never help you."

Voldemort knelt in front of her and grasped her chin, raising her face to his level. Blood pounded in her ears. It was unnerving the way he just stared at her: so silent, so measuring. Her eyes stung, and she blinked.

"I suppose you think you're very brave," he observed, "but I can see into your mind as clearly as I am looking at you right now. Your fears. Your weaknesses." A faint smile curved his mouth. "You are far too open, my dear."

He released her chin and grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her to her feet. Ginny stumbled after him with a cry of pain, tears prickling her eyes. Voldemort tightened his grip and dragged her roughly out of the room. She twisted against his hold, shouting insults and demanding to be released, but it was as if he had become deaf. He did not glance at her, he did not speak to her; he simply hauled her through the winding corridors until they came to a large set of wooden doors. Finally, he stopped and jerked her head back by her hair so that she was looking at him.

"Do you know what is in this room?" he asked in a pleasant voice, despite his ruthless hold.

Ginny shook her head. Her heart was pounding so hard that she thought it might carve a hole through her ribs.

"Then I'll tell you. Through these doors are the scum of my followers. They are the kind of men who would take great delight in giving you their own personal welcome." A malicious gleam entered his eyes as he took in her pretty face and soft, feminine curves. "Oh, yes, Ginevra, they would take great pleasure in you."

Her stomach clenched in revulsion as she realised what he was implying. From behind the closed doors, she could hear the sound of men laughing and talking. Too many to count. Too many for her to handle. Bile rose in her throat; her fingernails dug into her palms, creating crescent-shaped indents. Not for a moment did she doubt the truth of Voldemort's words. She remembered all too well how eager Smith had been to touch her, and there were probably many more like him in that room. Just because Malfoy had refused to rape her did not mean that the others would be so courteous.

"Choose wisely," Voldemort warned. "This is your last chance. One more word of denial on your lips and I'll leave you to these men to do as they please." He moved closer and whispered in her ear. "You are still a virgin, Ginevra. Are you sure you can handle it? To be used over and over again; to have your body touched and violated against your will, feeling man after man force himself inside you." He pointed to the door. "That is what awaits you if you refuse me. You can cry and scream, but it won't stop. It will never stop. Tonight will only be the first of many. You will suffer this degradation until you will be wishing for death." A cruel smile glimmered in his eyes. "Of course, that is the one punishment I won't give you."

Ginny let out a shaky breath. Her heart felt like it had lodged itself somewhere in her throat, and her chest was tight with panic. She told herself it was a bluff—just a way to make her break and give in to his wishes. All she had to do was be strong. Ignore the trembling in her hands. Ignore the way her stomach clenched and churned.

" _Are you sure you can handle it?"_

Acid burned her tongue. There was vomit in her mouth. Her stomach heaved again, unable to tolerate the images that Voldemort had painted in her mind. Her experience with Smith had been bad enough. Just the thought of more wizards doing the same to her—if not worse—made her want to curl up into foetal position. Her disgust and fear went so deep that even her soul cringed.

" _You can cry and scream, but it won't stop. It will never stop."_

Ginny's hands trembled more violently. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. Yes, she told herself to be strong, but there was a part of her that was already considering just how bad it would be to comply—just a little. It wasn't like she'd be betraying the Order. Not really. She'd just be taking the lesser of the two evils. Voldemort had only given her two options: obey him and have sex with Draco Malfoy or refuse and suffer an endless torture of rape and abuse.

 _It wouldn't really be giving up_ , she argued with herself. _Just think of it as finding a way to survive until you can leave. You won't be able to do jack if you're too hurt to move._

She'd heard Voldemort's unspoken words: she'd be kept alive, but barely. The men would rape her, beat her—pretty much do whatever the hell they liked so long as it didn't kill her. Logic told her that she needed to keep her mind and body intact if she wanted to escape when the opportunity presented itself; the panicked, emotional part of her brain simply decided the reality that awaited her through those doors was too awful to accept. True, she had no desire to have sex with Malfoy, but at least it would only be once. At least it would be on her terms.

Ginny's expression hardened. "What do you want me to do?"

Voldemort released her hair. "I knew you would come around eventually."

The redhead said nothing. She was by no means happy with her decision, but she could see no alternative. Voldemort had discovered her weakness—one she had not even known she had until confronted with the choice. If that was the true power of Legilimency, then it was indeed a frightening ability. She would have to learn how to guard her mind better.

Voldemort pulled out a small bottle filled with honey-gold liquid. "Drink this," he said, handing her the potion. "Lara will help you to get ready."

"Wait, you mean I have to do this right now?" she demanded.

"There is a full moon tonight," Voldemort said, as if that explained everything. "Your real challenge will be Draco. He will likely refuse you, but I have faith that you can change his mind with the right persuasion." A twisted smile curled his lips. "You know what will happen to you if you don't, but just to make sure—"

He yanked her robe open to bare her body. Grabbing her hair once more, he pushed open the doors and dragged her into the room. It was like stumbling into hell. The moment the Death Eaters realised a naked woman was in their midst, the tone shifted and conversation quickly degenerated into an onslaught of crude comments and taunts. Ginny had never felt so exposed. The sound of their voices, the feel of their gaze—it was a violation in itself, making her skin crawl and her stomach heave. One of the men made a rude gesture at her, giving no illusion as to what he wanted to do to her.

Ginny closed her eyes, willing the disgusting room and everyone inside to fade into oblivion. It was all she could do not to vomit.

"Now you know what your options are," Voldemort murmured from somewhere above her spinning head. "Believe me, I will know if you do not complete your task."

"I understand," she gritted out, clenching the potion in her hand. "I will not fail you."

 **oOo**

The bath was an unlooked for luxury. Ginny soaked in the hot water and tried not to think about why she was being given the Death Eater's version of five-star treatment. The soap that had smelt good enough to eat, the shampoo to wash out the grease and grime—all of it was calculated to make her more appealing. Her body had been scrubbed from head to foot, unwanted hair had been removed, and a potion to make her skin silky smooth had been tipped into the bathwater. It was the kind of thing a woman would have done to prepare for her wedding night; it was ridiculous that Ginny was doing it now so she could seduce a man she hated.

"Keep frowning like that and Draco will never go near you," Lara observed.

The Death Eater stood propped against the wall, watching the redhead through her keen blue eyes. Ginny ran her fingers through the water. Ripples formed and disturbed the surface, and she watched the droplets slide along her skin.

"Maybe it's better if he doesn't," she murmured.

Lara raised her eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts. You know what will happen if you back out now."

"I'm not backing out." Ginny brought her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. "I just keep asking myself if there was something else I could have done. Voldemort wants Malfoy to get me pregnant more than anything, and I just—I couldn't even—"

"You're doing what any sane person would do if given the option," Lara responded. "There is no shame in that."

"Isn't there, though?" Ginny dug her nails into her legs. "Malfoy doesn't even want to have sex with me. He got himself punished because he refused to obey Voldemort's order." A bubble of tired, almost hysterical laughter formed in her throat. "What does that make me? I'm about to go force him into sex—the man who murdered my brother!"

"It makes you human," Lara said simply.

Ginny shook her head. "You don't need to try make me feel better. Merlin knows why you'd bother." Her voice turned brittle. "I know I shouldn't be doing this. I'm just being selfish."

Selfish and a coward. It was perhaps the hardest truth to accept about the situation. She had tried so hard to be strong.

Lara stepped away from the wall. "Well, there's no point brooding about it now. You've made your decision, so focus on what needs to be done."

"What, seducing a man who wants nothing to do with me?" Ginny's mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "Yeah, I'm going to have a great time with that."

The most Ginny had ever done with Harry was indulge in a bit of groping and some heavy snogging. No clothes had ever been removed. Frankly, she had no idea what to expect, let alone how she was supposed to make Malfoy want her.

Lara's eyes glinted in understanding. "I heard you're a virgin. Nervous?"

Ginny's expression soured. "It doesn't matter how I feel. I'm going to get that bastard to have sex with me somehow."

The brunette was startled into a snort of laughter. "You really are a feisty little thing. You should make use of that."

"Huh?"

A smile curved Lara's lips. "Draco doesn't like the Dark Lord's plan; he's going to refuse you on principle. That's why you can't hold back, not even for a moment. Play the victim and he will send you away." Her smile widened a fraction. "But if you can make him _believe_ that you want him—well, he'll fall right into your hands."

Ginny's brow furrowed. "Make him believe that I want him?"

"It's not that hard," Lara said with a shrug. "Draco is young and still rather inexperienced; it won't be difficult to break through his defences if you play your cards right. Just use what you have. Take charge. Don't give him a chance to think." Her smile took on a sly edge. "In the end, he's a man with very real hormones; I have a feeling that he will not be able to resist you for long. _You_ just have to make sure you seize the chance when it's offered to you."

Ginny nodded, accepting this wisdom without question. Then it occurred to her that Lara was also her enemy, not to mention some kind of friend to Malfoy. The creases deepened on her brow.

"Why are you helping me so much?" she asked. "I thought you didn't care about what happened to the prisoners here."

Lara tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Are you so sure that I'm helping you? Perhaps I'm just ensuring the success of my master's plan." She shrugged again. "You can never know for sure, and that, Ginevra, is why you shouldn't trust anyone more than you need. I'm no threat to you now, but I wouldn't hesitate to hurt you if you gave me a reason. Understood?"

"Whatever you say," Ginny muttered.

Despite the threat, Ginny got the sense that Lara was not as malicious as the other Death Eaters. Cynical, yes, but not malicious. No doubt that was why Malfoy had trusted Lara with watching over her in his stead. He knew the older woman would not be needlessly cruel. Still, it made Ginny wonder how Lara had ended up joining the Death Eaters. The brunette spoke of loyalty to Voldemort, but she seemed closer to Malfoy than anyone else. That in itself made Ginny suspicious.

"Can I ask you something?" Ginny asked.

Lara heaved a sigh. "What?"

"Why do you serve Voldemort?"

The brunette's eyebrows lifted a fraction. "Why do you serve the Order?"

"Because the Order actually gives a damn about justice and saving lives."

Lara smiled slightly. She seemed to have expected no less. "You have just answered your own question. Now—" she grabbed the towel that hung from a hook on the wall and offered it to Ginny "—I think our confidences are at an end. Get dressed. I'll take you to Draco's room."

Ginny accepted the towel and got out of the bath, drying herself off in silence. Lara's response had confused her, but she knew there was no point asking for clarification. Best just to put the matter behind her for now. Ginny had a task to do; she couldn't afford to lose focus.

She slipped into a clean robe and picked up the potion that Voldemort had given her. A sniff of the contents let her pick out traces of honey. That would have normally made her wary—it was common knowledge that sweetener was used to disguise poison—but she knew the potion was unlikely to be harmful, given that Voldemort wanted her alive. He couldn't get his demon spawn if she got poisoned.

Ginny raised the uncorked bottle to the air. "Here's to getting my brother's murderer to have sex with me!" she said with false cheer.

She downed the potion in one gulp. It tasted of bitter herbs that even the sweetened honey could not disguise. Ginny scrunched her face in distaste and discarded the empty bottle. A flutter of warmth passed through her abdomen. Frowning, she placed her hand on her stomach, but the feeling faded as quickly as it had come. Strange. She was sure she'd read about an effect like this in her healing classes. Now, what was it again? Something to do with the moon and—

Ginny froze. The answer slammed into her mind with such sickening intensity that she recoiled. The bottle had contained a fertility potion. With this, the chances of her getting pregnant were now at ninety-nine percent. Voldemort had been well prepared indeed.

"Guess there's no turning back now," Ginny muttered.

Time to suck it up and make her mock toast a reality. She just hoped she wouldn't live to regret this night.

 **oOo**

Malfoy's bedroom was lit with only a few candles, casting a warm glow over what was otherwise a sparsely decorated room. A single dresser, a serviceable bed; there was no sense of ownership or personality captured in any of it. Ginny stared at the blond. He lay on the bed with one arm draped over his face. The sound of her entering hadn't made him so much as twitch, but he did lower his arm when she pushed the door shut.

"You might as well leave, Lara. I'm not—" He broke off when his gaze met chocolate-brown eyes instead of the vivid blue he had been expecting. "Weasley?"

Ginny paused to take a moment to look at the blond. _Really_ look at him. He was young—only a year older than her—and an unbiased part of her could admit that he was attractive. Striking was perhaps a better word. His features were sharp and angular, but he had grown into the points. His pale skin and white-blond hair would always make him stand out, and there was something mercurial about his eyes. Even now, she could not decide on the exact colour. His irises seemed to shift between different blends of grey: sometimes dark, sometimes light, and sometimes she even caught flecks of blue.

Malfoy got off the bed, and a few creases formed on his brow. "What are you doing here?"

She ignored his question and did a quick once-over of his body. He wasn't lanky like Ron had been, but the blond was tall and slender. Deceptively so. She had felt his strength when he had pinned her against the ground; he was probably all sinewy muscle under those clothes.

Young, handsome, and had a good body. It could have been worse.

Ginny closed the distance between them. She stopped thinking of Malfoy as her brother's killer in that moment; she stopped telling herself that he was a Death Eater and, thus, her enemy. There was no room for disgust or hesitation. Her emotions had been hardened by resolve, and she would not fail. That was why, when he asked her again what she was doing in his room, she undid the fastening to her robe and let the cloth pool at her feet. Malfoy's eyes widened and skittered to the side, looking at the roof, the wall—anywhere but at her naked body.

"What are you doing?" he snapped, still keeping his gaze averted. "Put your clothes on and get out!"

 _Don't hold back._

Ginny gripped his collar and pulled him down to her level, kissing him full on the mouth. Shock held the blond frozen. He tensed, muscles stiffening, but she knew better than to let him slip out of her grasp. She pressed herself against him, making sure that their bodies touched in all the right places. Now he could feel her breasts, the way she grinded her hips a little into his. Malfoy's breath hitched—a helpless, involuntary sound. Ginny inwardly smiled.

 _Don't give him a chance to think._

She traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, nudging him into opening his mouth to her. So caressing. So teasing. It was the kind of kiss that demanded a response: insistent, passionate, and sure to shatter any defence. Malfoy's fingers grazed her arm, and for a moment—just a tiny moment—his mouth did move against hers. He realised what he had done a split-second later, because he quickly pushed her away and stepped back, taking in a gulp of air.

"No," he said, taking a few more steps backwards. "I can't do this. Just get out, Weasley. Get the hell out!"

 _Take charge._

Ginny followed him. "Are you sure you want me to leave?"

His gaze skittered away from her again. He was like a spooked animal: cornered, panicked. They both knew that he wanted her, or at least his body did. She'd felt his arousal when they'd kissed.

 _Use what you have._

She placed her fingertip against his jaw and tilted his face towards her, forcing him to meet her gaze. His pupils were so dilated that only a thin circle of grey remained. "You're such a liar," she taunted.

Ginny kissed him hard, pushing him against the bed with little resistance. He tumbled onto his back, and she moved to straddle his hips, leaning over him so that her hair fell like a red curtain around them. Malfoy's chest rose and fell quickly. He grabbed her waist, perhaps to push her off, but she just gripped his wrists in turn and held him in place. Their eyes met.

"Weasley," he said warningly.

She smiled. Slowly, agonisingly, she grinded herself into the spot that she knew would be his undoing. A shock of heat pulsed between her thighs. Her breath caught a little, even as Malfoy's eyelashes fluttered and he rolled his hips up in response. O-oh, that felt—

"Damn it, Weasley!"

His voice was a hiss, but the next second she was on her back and he was kissing her. The pulsing heat between her legs got hotter. His mouth was hungry, demanding, and she couldn't help but respond. It felt so damn good. Her body arched and throbbed with the pounding of her blood. His hands left burning trails on her skin, gripping her thighs and tugging her closer. They rolled and got tangled with each other, fighting for dominance. Everything was becoming a blur. Kissing, touching, grinding. It was so messy, so erotic, but it wasn't enough.

Ginny fumbled with his clothes, trying to get rid of the barrier between their naked bodies. She wanted him closer. She wanted more friction, more of everything.

"Get off!" Ginny growled, tugging at his pants.

Malfoy laughed—a husky, sexy sound that went straight to her core in a shock of arousal. He helped her pull off the last of his garments. She latched her legs around his waist and rolled him onto his back, pushing her palms against his chest to keep him down. His eyes widened a fraction. A smile curved her mouth and she leaned down, taking his bottom lip between her teeth and sucked gently, even as she let her hands slide down his chest, moving lower and lower. His breath caught in another of those hitched little sounds. So vulnerable, so exposing.

 _You're mine_ , she thought with a triumphant thrill.

Malfoy groaned and closed his eyes. She shifted her lips to his neck, nipping at his fluttering pulse. He didn't let her tease him for long. In one swift motion, he flipped her onto her back and his mouth latched onto hers. She gasped into the kiss when she felt his hand slip between her thighs. Pleasure jolted through her in tiny sparks, building and building. Her head fell back, and this time it was her who made the soft sounds. It was all she could do not to whimper.

"Malfoy."

His name slipped free before she could stop it. Gods, she sounded like she was begging. He knew it, too, because he smiled and removed his fingers.

 _Don't stop!_ Ginny wanted to cry. She bit her tongue and stared up at him in frustration, her breathing ragged.

"Had enough?" he taunted.

Her eyes narrowed. "Enough games."

Malfoy couldn't argue. They both knew what they really wanted. Sure, it was wrong. Sure, it was messed up as hell, but the thought of stopping now seemed so much worse. He was an itch that she needed to scratch, and there was only one way to get satisfaction.

 _Make him believe that you want him_.

Ginny didn't even have to pretend. She threaded her hands through his hair and pulled him closer, kissing him deeply. One little rock of her hips was all it took. Malfoy was done; the last few threads of his control slipped from his grasp.

She had won.

 **oOo**

The room was quiet. Ginny listened to the steady breathing coming from the man beside her. Lingering traces of her orgasm rippled inside her. They'd just had sex. Very pleasurable, very passionate sex. The shock of that realisation was something with which she was still trying to come to terms. Perhaps Malfoy felt the same. He hadn't spoken to her since—not even to tell her to leave. Hell, he wouldn't even look at her.

 _Because you forced him into this._

Ginny rolled away from him and curled into a ball. Guilt clenched her stomach, mixing in with feelings of self-loathing. Yes, she had taken advantage of Draco Malfoy. It would have been laughable—a virgin like her seducing the big, scary Death Eater—but there was nothing funny about the way she felt now. What she had done was an awful, selfish act, but that was all it was ever meant to be: just an act. She wasn't supposed to enjoy the way he kissed her. She wasn't supposed to take pleasure in the soft sounds he made (because _she_ had got him to do that), or to tussle with him for dominance because it was frankly arousing. She sure as hell wasn't supposed to breathe out his name like a prayer when he brought her to climax.

Merlin, she was so messed up.

Ginny brought her knees closer to her chest. Something prickled in the corners of her eyes, though no tears fell. Ugly words hissed in her mind: whore, Death Eater slut—the labels were like whips of self-loathing, and she gladly let them lash against her. The guilt squeezed her heart, her lungs. Her family would be so disappointed if they could see her now. She didn't even want to think how Harry would react.

Someone knocked at the door. For a moment there was silence, and then Malfoy shifted on the bed.

"What is it?" he called.

"The Dark Lord wishes to see you," Lara's voice replied. "I've come to collect the girl."

Malfoy cursed under his breath. "What can he possibly want with me now?"

Ginny rolled over and snuck a glance at the blond. He sat with his head in his hands, running his palms over his face in a gesture that whispered of frustration and exhaustion. She bit her lip.

"Malfoy," she began, "I—"

He exhaled and let his hands drop to his lap. "You should get dressed," he said flatly, not even sparing her a glance. "Lara is an impatient woman."

Ginny swallowed, not sure how to respond after receiving such a blunt dismissal. Malfoy got off the bed and started pulling on his clothes. She stared at his back, conscious of the hollowness forming in the pit of her stomach. The expression on his face had been so cold, so distant. She wasn't sure if it was because he was angry with her or if he was just angry with himself for even giving into her. Perhaps it was a bit of both. Merlin knew she felt just as confused.

"Hurry up!" Lara ordered, giving the door a kick.

"She's coming!" Malfoy snapped.

Ginny heard him mutter something about Lara and his loathing of the whole female species in general. It would have been amusing had she not been aware that she was the real root of his frustration. He'd fallen for her seduction act so easily. Then again, her control had disintegrated just as quickly the moment he had rolled her onto her back and kissed her.

She sighed and slipped off the bed, picking up her discarded robe. Her body felt sticky and sweaty, but there was nothing she could do about that now. Maybe Lara would let her have another bath. Ginny couldn't say that she liked this lingering imprint of sex.

Malfoy finished doing up his robe and turned to her with an unreadable expression. "Don't speak of this to anyone," he said. "There are a lot of people who would kill to get their hands on you if they knew how important you are to the Dark Lord."

Ginny nodded. "I understand."

"Good."

He ushered her out of the room and shut the door behind them. Lara uncrossed her arms.

"Took you long enough," she muttered. "You'd better hurry, Draco. The Dark Lord might be pleased that tonight was a success, but you still refused his orders, and you know that he has never liked to be kept waiting."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Right now I don't care what the Dark Lord thinks."

Lara grabbed his arm. "Hey, I know you're upset, but—"

He shrugged off her hand. "Don't touch me!" he hissed. "Unless you can look me in the eye and tell me that you had nothing to do with this mess—" he pointed at Ginny "—you can just piss off!"

Ginny blinked. Wow, Malfoy was really angry.

Lara's mouth twitched. "Throwing a tantrum won't change anything. The Dark Lord would have found a way to make the ritual happen, regardless of my input. You know it's true." Her smile widened a fraction. "At least this way you got to get some enjoyment out of it." She paused. "Oh, a lot of enjoyment, it seems."

Malfoy's cheeks flushed. "Get out of my head!"

Lara spread her hands. "Sorry, sorry. I was just curious."

The blond made a frustrated sound and swung round on his heel, storming off down the hallway like a tensed up bundle of rage. Lara chuckled and turned back to Ginny.

"Well, shall we go?" she suggested.

Ginny's brow creased as she watched Malfoy's retreating figure. "I thought you two were friends."

Some of the humour faded from Lara's eyes. "We are, I suppose. Draco is just feeling a little sensitive right now. I knew that he didn't want anything to do with the ritual, yet I helped to make it happen anyway. He doesn't like that."

"Why did you do it?"

Lara's voice softened. "Because there are some things that have to happen."

The creases deepened on Ginny's brow. Something about those words—even the tone in which they had been spoken—bothered her. Lara must have noticed her confusion, because she smiled and gave the redhead a gentle nudge.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," she said. "I bet you're just itching for a bath."

"To be honest, yeah," Ginny said. "I never knew sex was so messy."

Lara let out a small snort of laughter. "Just wait till tomorrow. You're going to be aching in places you didn't even know existed."

Ginny scrunched her nose, which of course only made the brunette laugh harder. It was only later, when Ginny was in the bath and washing the sticky residue off her body, that she realised why she had been so bothered by Lara's words.

Lara had sounded sad.

 **oOo**

"Weasley." A hand shook her shoulder. "Weasley, wake up."

Ginny stirred and opened her eyes groggily. Malfoy leaned over her, but he released her as soon as he saw that she was awake. She sat up, tugging her robe down from where it had ridden up her legs. Her gaze was wary.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

Malfoy straightened to his full height. "I'm taking you to Malfoy Manor."

"Why there?"

"Because the Dark Lord wishes it," he said a bit testily. "Now hurry up. I want to leave before anyone notices."

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet. She didn't put up any resistance and let him lead her down the corridors to an alcove that was framed by stone pillars. Judging by the empty space, she guessed it had been set up as a Disapparation point.

"In here," he said, drawing her with him into the alcove.

Their eyes met briefly—his narrowing a little as if to warn her not to try anything—and then he raised his wand to the air. Together, they turned on the spot and the magic took hold. Ginny got a brief glimpse of mercurial grey eyes before everything disintegrated with a world-tearing crack. She and Malfoy were gone, and all that was left was the empty alcove.

* * *

This chapter was replaced with a revised version on 10/10/2016. No changes to the plot—just cut out the actual sex scene and heavily edited the rest to make it less graphic.


	4. Mother and Son

Sorry for the delay! Have had a month of poor health, writer's burnout, and family drama. Here's to hoping April will be better.

* * *

 **Mother and Son**

Ginny hated side-Apparition. Not being in control of the magic made it difficult to keep her state of equilibrium. Her ears popped as she materialised with Malfoy outside a set of wrought-iron gates, protesting against the sudden decompression. She lost her footing and probably would have stumbled to her knees had he not tugged on her wrist to correct her balance.

"Thanks," she muttered, not quite meeting his gaze.

Malfoy released her and moved towards the gates. The rows of pointed iron seemed to shift like a mirage, becoming liquid metal and then reshaped into a nondescript face. This seemed to bother the blond, judging by the way his jaw clenched.

"Purpose?" the face asked in a voice that was smooth yet expressionless.

"Draco Malfoy, here to escort Ginevra Weasley, as ordered by the Dark Lord," Malfoy responded.

The face melted back into rows of pointed iron. Malfoy gestured for Ginny to go ahead. She stepped forward, but the gates did not open for her as expected; instead, she passed through the wrought-iron as if it was nothing more than smoke. The crackle of magic stirred the fine hairs on her arms. She shivered and rubbed away the chill. A second later Malfoy had also passed through to join her on the gravel path.

"What was that?" she asked. "It felt weird."

"The wards," he said, though his voice sounded odd. Almost bitter. "It strips away any spells or illusions that are in place."

Ginny's brow creased. The manor belonged to Malfoy's family. She did not know much about warding magic, but she knew enough to understand that he should not have had to ask permission to enter, let alone be subjected to the same magical nullifying process.

Malfoy's expression hardened. "Let's go."

He ushered her ahead of him, leading her towards the pearl-coloured building that rose up out of the darkness at the end of the drive. A high hedge lined either side of the path. She was surprised to see a white peacock strutting along the top of the hedge closest to her. The sound of water falling in a constant flow trickled to her ears. There was a fountain somewhere beyond the hedge. She could only imagine how beautiful the grounds would look in the daytime.

The doors to the manor opened and a figure stepped out onto the front entranceway. Light shone down from the hanging lantern, illuminating the woman's golden-blonde hair. Malfoy stiffened, and Ginny heard his sharp intake of breath. It was the woman she had seen in his memories: the one who had chased his toddler-self down beautiful corridors, laughing and hugging him to her with such love; the one who had sobbed so brokenly in the end. Narcissa Malfoy.

"Draco?" Narcissa said, taking a hesitant step forward.

Malfoy tensed. His mother moved closer, and then she was reaching for his face with a trembling hand.

"You've got so tall," she observed, though her smile seemed caught somewhere between joy and pain. "I hardly recognised you."

Malfoy stepped back, avoiding her touch. Something shifted in Narcissa's expression. She let her hand drop to her side. There was a tense moment as the two stared at each other. Ginny glanced from mother to son, trying to understand what was going on between them. Words were being exchanged—that she could grasp—but she could not interpret the silence.

"Something has happened," Narcissa said, gazing searchingly into his eyes. "I thought your arrival meant that the Dark Lord had relented, but you—"

"Mother."

She paused. That one word, uttered so flatly, acted like a silencing charm.

"Did you know?" he asked.

A crease formed on Narcissa's brow. "Know what?"

"The ritual." His voice became brittle. "The one performed on me when I was a baby. Did you know about it?"

Something flickered in the older woman's eyes. She lowered her gaze. "Yes," she murmured. "I knew."

All the breath left Malfoy's lungs in a shaky exhale.

"It wasn't my choice," Narcissa tried to explain. "The Dark Lord—"

He held up his hand in a gesture for her to stop. "I get it."

"Draco—"

He brushed past her and grabbed Ginny by the wrist, tugging the redhead with him towards the front door.

"Do you resent me so much?"

Malfoy stilled. Ginny felt the fine tremor that passed through his hands.

"I could never resent you, Mother," he said softly. "You know that."

"Then why won't you look at me?"

Malfoy closed his eyes, still keeping his back to the older woman. "We have a guest," he said in a voice that was too neutral to be natural. "You wouldn't want me to be rude and not get her settled in, would you?"

Not waiting for a response, he led Ginny through the doors and into the grand foyer. The redhead couldn't help but be struck by how beautiful the manor was inside: spacious and sumptuously decorated, with a thick, ornate carpet covering the stone floor. Ginny had never known such luxury. She could not believe that a place like this still existed in England, as if the manor had never been touched by war.

Malfoy's small exhalation of breath shattered her moment of admiration. He released her wrist and bowed his head. Emotions slipped through the cracks in his mask of composure—too tangled and distressed to unravel—but it was enough for Ginny to see the truth. Malfoy had been shaken by his mother's presence. Badly.

"Are you—" her fingers brushed his sleeve before she even realised what she was doing "—are you alright?"

Malfoy stopped her hand. "I'd prefer it if you didn't touch me," he said in a hard voice.

"I was just—"

"I think we can both agree you've done enough tonight," he cut in, shoving her hand back at her.

A flush of heat spread across her cheeks. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was alluding to the fact they'd ended up having sex because of her seduction act. Ginny could remember vividly the way she had touched him, kissed him, breaking down his defences one by one; the way he had touched her in turn, his mouth hungry and demanding, and his—

She blinked, forcing the memory to the back of her mind. It was much harder to stop the pulsing warmth between her legs. Damn her treacherous body. She squeezed her thighs together, shifting uncomfortably. Not that Malfoy noticed or even cared what kind of impact his words had on her. He was already walking up the stairs. The bastard.

"Hey!" Ginny called, stomping after him. "We're not done here!"

"No, I'm pretty sure we're done, Weasley," Malfoy retorted, not even glancing back at her.

Her eyes flashed. "Listen, you stupid prick!" She grabbed him by the elbow and yanked him round so that he was facing her. "I never forced you into anything that you didn't want to do yourself, so don't try to dump this all back on me like you're so innocent!"

Something flickered in his mercurial gaze. "You're right." He moved closer, backing her up against the wall. "I fell right into your clever little hands. Is that what you want to hear?"

"I—what—"

"Oh, come now," he murmured, placing his palm against the wall and leaning down so that they were at eye level. "There's no need to be coy. Your plan worked perfectly. An attractive girl like you; what kind of man would I be if I turned you away when you were so _determined_ to have sex with me?" His voice laced with contempt. "Tell me, how many other men have fallen for your tricks? Potter must have been an easy conquest."

Blood rushed to her cheeks. She could feel the blush warming the tips of her ears. "You—you actually—"

Her voice shook with anger, embarrassment, and what might have been a hysterical urge to laugh. The situation was ridiculous. Malfoy thought she was some slut who slept with anyone because she had seduced him so easily. He had no idea. No idea at all.

"You know what?" she said. "I don't have to listen to this."

She pushed past him, though he didn't put up any resistance. Instead, he sighed.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

"Away from you!" Ginny snapped.

She stomped up the steps, hands curled into fists. Malfoy followed in a much more relaxed gait.

"You're going to get lost," he said calmly.

"I don't care."

"Weasley—"

"Piss off!" She rounded on him with her eyes blazing. "I know what you think of me and, frankly, you can take your judgy comments and shove them up your arse where they belong, 'cause I don't have to take this crap from a Death Eater." Her lip curled. "Merlin knows why I wasted even a shred of concern on you."

Malfoy raised his eyebrow. "Concern?"

"Yes, concern! It was obvious that being around your mum upset you. I'd have to be blind not to see it." Her voice took on a nasty tone. "What happened between the two of you anyway? Did your mum realise what a messed up bastard you are and throw you out?"

His eyes narrowed. "Fuck you, Weasley."

Ginny laughed. "Quite the foul mouth you got there, Malfoy. Or did I just hit a nerve?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Fine. Wander around the manor all night for all I care. We're done here."

He walked past her up the stairs, every movement rigid.

"Yeah, that's right we're done!" Ginny shouted after him. "It's not like I wanted you near me anyway!"

Malfoy didn't respond. He just kept on walking and passed out of view. Ginny huffed and balled her hands into fists. Everything he did was so grating, whether he was vocal or silent. An unbiased part of her could admit she was mostly annoyed at herself, though. Yes, he had looked all tortured and pathetic after seeing his mother, but he was still a bastard through and through. She should have never let her heart soften even that small fraction to actually give a damn about whether he was upset.

"He killed your brother," she told herself. "Don't be an idiot."

The sex hadn't meant anything. _He_ didn't mean anything. All that mattered was that she had done what was necessary to survive. Now, she just had to bide her time until she could escape. Even if she still felt riddled with guilt. Even if her blood still burned when she remembered how mind-blowingly good it had felt to be entwined with him in naked passion.

Ginny let out a breath and continued up the stairs, skimming her hand along the bannister. Time to focus. She could only assume that a room had been prepared for her somewhere in the manor. Malfoy had taken the corridor to her left before disappearing from view, but there was also a set of doors in front of her and a corridor to her right. She had no idea which route she was supposed to take.

"Ginevra Weasley, isn't it?"

Ginny started at the unexpected voice. She turned around to see Narcissa making her way up the stairs.

"That's right," the redhead said cautiously.

Narcissa appraised her through cool blue eyes. "I was informed that a new prisoner might be joining me at the manor, but I did not expect it to be you."

"A new prisoner? You mean there are others here?"

A faint, self-deprecating smile curved the blonde's lips. "This manor is a prison, Ginevra." She gestured at their surroundings. "My prison."

Ginny's eyes widened. As if in a distant echo, she remembered the words she had overheard in her old cell.

" _I heard you actually begged the Dark Lord to spare that double-crossing mother of yours. Begged, like a dog."_

No wonder Malfoy had got so angry when Ginny had taunted him about his mother. Narcissa might not have kicked her son out, but it was clear that Malfoy had not visited the manor for quite some time; so long, in fact, that Narcissa had commented on the inches he had gained in height. It made Ginny wonder whether Malfoy had chosen to stay away or if he was forced to by Voldemort. Then she realised that she was thinking about the bastard again, and a scowl twisted her lips.

"I take it Draco has retired to his room," Narcissa observed, glancing around the foyer as if she might still catch a glimpse of her son. "He did not arrange for you to be shown to your quarters?"

Ginny's scowl became more pronounced. "We had a disagreement."

"Well, that explains the yelling," Narcissa murmured, more to herself. Her mouth curved into another of those self-deprecating smiles. "I'm afraid I'm a little out of touch with the outside world. You'll have to forgive me for not understanding the situation. My orders are simply to take care of you while you are here." Her eyes glinted. "Perhaps you'd care to tell me what is really going on?"

Ginny's breath got caught in her throat. "Um."

She felt cornered all of a sudden. Everything about the blonde was calm and composed, but for Ginny it felt like being held at wand point. It wasn't that she was afraid of Narcissa; she just couldn't shake the feeling that she was being manoeuvred. It seemed that Malfoy wasn't the only member of his family who liked to disguise an interrogation as a friendly conversation.

Narcissa's smile widened a fraction. "I can understand your hesitation, but your distrust in me is ill-founded. I'm just a prisoner here like you, Ginevra. I will not use your words against you." A softer light entered her eyes. "All I care about is my son. Please, tell me what you know. He will not talk to me if I approach him now, but perhaps if I understand the situation better, I can get him to open up to me. "

"That's it?"

"That's it," Narcissa confirmed.

Ginny let out a breath. She supposed it couldn't hurt. Narcissa was bound to find out the truth anyway, and it sounded like the blonde did not hold any love for Voldemort. If Ginny played her cards right, she might just make an ally. Merlin knew she needed one.

"Fine," Ginny said, ignoring the voice that told her she was being too hasty. "I'll tell you what I know."

So she explained about the raid, the kidnapping, and the dark ritual known as the Hadem Rhi. Not that it was an easy account for her to tell; not with the memories still so fresh in her mind. Just thinking about her own role in the night's events had her cheeks staining with red. She couldn't bring herself to admit that she had seduced Malfoy. It was too embarrassing, too damning. Fortunately, Narcissa did not press the issue, or perhaps the blonde was just able to fill in the blanks.

"I see," Narcissa said, once Ginny had finished. "Thank you for telling me this."

Ginny bit her lip and lowered her gaze.

Narcissa clicked her fingers. "Tinky."

A house-elf appeared a second later, lowering its head in a small bow. The elf was dressed in some kind of pillowcase. "Tinky is here to serve," it said in its squeaky voice. "What is Tinky's order?"

"Show Ginevra to the Blue Room," Narcissa said, barely sparing a glance for the redhead. "I'm sure she is tired and would like to rest."

The elf bowed and turned to Ginny. "This way, Miss."

Ginny found herself being ushered by small hands towards the door on her right. She glanced back at Narcissa, but the older woman was already passing out of sight down the corridor on the left. So much for making an ally. Narcissa had used her to get information—nothing else. It seemed the blonde had not been lying when she said all she cared about was her son.

"Figures," Ginny muttered.

"Did Miss say something?" Tinky asked.

"Nothing," Ginny said with a sigh. "Lead on."

The elf did so, taking her down beautiful corridors with massive, arching windows that looked out onto the moonlit grounds. Portraits of pale-faced witches and wizards hung from the walls, intermingled with landscapes and other artistic depictions. Ginny could feel the portraits' eyes following her, though most of the figures painted onto the canvas appeared to be sleeping. Eventually, Tinky stopped outside a door carved with intricate designs.

"This will be Miss's room," Tinky said. "Miss is free to come and go as Miss pleases, but the wards will stop Miss from actually leaving the manor."

"Of course," Ginny said under her breath.

"Tinky will leave now," the elf said, and vanished with a pop.

Ginny blinked at the empty space where the elf had stood. Clearly, Tinky was not as chatty as Dobby had been.

She pushed open the door and entered the room, triggering the chandelier to come to life in a spreading glow of light. Like everything in the manor, the Blue Room gave off an air of luxury and old wealth. A huge, four-poster bed dominated the space, complete with blue velvet drapes. All of the furniture was made from cherry wood, and though the walls were white except for a navy-blue border, it was obvious how the guest room had got its name: everything was accented with shades of blue, right down to the blue and white hydrangeas on the table.

Ginny frowned. Well, this was certainly an upgrade from her last prison, but that didn't change the fact that she was still a captive. She kicked the door shut and collapsed face-first on the bed, breathing out a sigh. Now that she was alone, it was as if all of the fight had drained out of her. Not that she could relax. Her mind kept replaying over everything that had happened that night.

Everything that _would_ happen if she could not find a way to stop it.

She rolled onto her back and placed her hand against her abdomen. There was only a one percent chance that the fertility potion would fail, and that was just the potion. Just thinking about it made her chest tighten with anxiety. She didn't want to have a baby. Not like this. Getting pregnant was supposed to be one of the happiest times of her life, but she had never felt more miserable or confused. Getting dismissed by Narcissa after confiding in the woman had only made her feel worse.

Something wet rolled down Ginny's cheek. She buried her face into her pillow and let the tears fall. Maybe it was weak of her, but there was no one to see her cry. The war had taken so much from her; she had never expected that it would shatter such innocent dreams as the ones she had cherished about love. Voldemort had ruined everything. Harry was in a magically induced coma, she had lost her virginity to Draco Malfoy, and it was Malfoy's child who she would now carry in her womb until Voldemort was ready to perform the sacrifice. There was no romance, no sense of joy—just a tangled mess of feelings and ugly truths.

Ginny pummelled her fist into the pillow, but even that did little assuage her frustration. She could not stop thinking about the blond. She could not stop thinking about Voldemort's plan. She felt all mixed up and on edge, and her head ached from trying to think of a way to get out of the mess in which she now found herself. She hoped that Malfoy was having just as much of a hard time. It wouldn't be fair if she was the only one left floundering and wishing that she could Obliviate her memories.

She was still cursing the blond when she finally drifted off to sleep.

 **oOo**

A clock was ticking. Light filtered through the room from a myriad of silvery orbs, all held together by the chandelier that hung from the ceiling, dipping and weaving in an intricate design. Draco Malfoy let out a breath and surveyed the bedroom that had been his since birth. He hadn't stepped foot in it since he was eighteen. Nothing had changed. The four-poster bed with its same charcoal-grey coverlet, the books stacked on the shelves in a coordinated pattern that hinted of obsessive compulsive tendencies, even the few personal belongings that had been left on top of the dresser; it was all the same. Of course, that was the problem. The manor was filled with memories. Every room, every footstep he took was just a reminder of a time that he both yearned for and wished to forget.

Of a time that could not be recaptured.

Draco sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hands through his hair, grabbing fistfuls of the white-blond strands. He had learnt from a young age how to compartmentalise his emotions, so most of the time people did not notice when he was upset. Keyword being _most_ of the time. There were still those moments when cracks snuck into his mask of composure, splintering in chips of weakness, and making him lash out at those around him. Now was one of those times.

Put simply, he did not want to be stuck at the manor. He definitely did not want to be around his mother—not after learning that she had kept the truth from him for so long. The betrayal hurt more than he'd expected, as if his chest had been ripped open to expose his heart, but then that had always been his problem. Draco didn't appear cold because he felt nothing; he appeared so because he felt too much. Suppressing everything into neat little boxes was the only way he could function, and that was especially true when dealing with his mother. He wanted to hate her—Merlin knew she deserved his bitterness—but, like a pathetic child, he couldn't stop loving her.

Even now, he could remember how much he had wanted to fall into her arms when he had first seen her; how he had wanted to scream and lash out at her for keeping him in the dark about the ritual. Not that he had done either. He had seen for himself the dangers of giving into emotion. It was better to lock it all away. Better to keep everything shoved deep inside where it couldn't reveal his vulnerabilities. Except he couldn't seem to do that. Not here. Not with his mother and Weasley so close. The cracks had already formed in his mask, and he could feel the lids on his little boxes rattling and dislodging.

Too much had happened. Too much just kept on happening.

Draco's hands trembled. He curled his fingers into his palms in a vain attempt to still the motion. Damn it, now he was thinking about Weasley again. He had tried his best not to let his thoughts stray to the redhead—too many associations with that cursed ritual for his comfort—but he should have known that blocking her from his mind would be impossible. The girl was like a thorn digging into his flesh. He just hoped to Merlin that she stayed away from him while he was at the manor. She had made him lose control tonight, and that was something he could not forgive. Not her and especially not himself. The fact that he'd ended up used liked a pawn for the Dark Lord because she had stripped down his defences just made it worse.

A soft knock at the door wrenched him from his brooding. He glanced up to see Narcissa enter the room.

"What do you want, Mother?" he asked wearily.

"To talk, if you will let me," she answered, closing the door behind her. "It has been four years since I last saw you."

He rubbed his hand over his face. "I'm tired."

"And I'm concerned."

Draco said nothing. All the petty responses he wanted to hurl at her for daring to act worried after everything she had put him through were like acid on his tongue, but he swallowed the words back and kept his mouth shut. She had still come to see him; that meant more to him than he cared to admit.

"Ginevra told me about what happened," Narcissa prompted when it became obvious he would not speak.

"Then she's an idiot," he muttered. "I told her not to tell anyone."

Narcissa raised her eyebrow. "Did you really think you could keep this from me? That girl is going to give birth to your child."

"And then the Dark Lord will kill it," he said coolly. "What difference does it make?"

"I know it means something to you."

His jaw tightened. The little boxes rattled violently inside him.

"I know you, Draco." Narcissa stepped closer. "You can pretend that you don't care all you like, but you can't deceive me. You never could."

He jerked away from her before she could touch him, more out of reflex than from any premeditated decision to avoid her. She paused, her hand still poised as if to cradle his face. Some of the light dimmed in her eyes.

"Don't push me away," she said softly. "I can help you."

"Like you did four years ago?"

The words were out before he could stop them. Narcissa winced—a wince he shared, because he knew how much that comment would have hurt her—but her expression smoothed a second later. Not that he took any consolation in the sight. She was just as good as him at crafting masks.

"I am sorry about what happened," she said with a hint of stiffness; she had never been good at apologies.

"I'm sorry too." He shook his head. "It doesn't change anything, though, does it?"

"No," she allowed. "I suppose it doesn't."

There was a moment of silence.

Narcissa placed her hand on top of his own, except this time she did not let him pull away. "Still, we are together now."

He stared at their hands. "The Dark Lord has not forgiven you, Mother."

"I gathered as much."

"I'm only here on probation. Nothing has been reinstated."

"Then I count myself fortunate that he did not send you somewhere else. I have missed you, Draco, whatever you might think."

Draco made a frustrated sound. "You just don't get it, do you?" He stood up, wrenching his hand from her clasp. "The Dark Lord specifically ordered me to stay at the manor. It was never my choice."

"I know."

"But you don't!"

He barely realised that he was raising his voice. It should have worried him that he was losing control, but in that moment he was just so mad: at her, at the Dark Lord, at himself for even getting into this mess.

"I disobeyed his orders, Mother! The Dark Lord wants to make me suffer! That's why he sent me here! Because he knew that being stuck with you—being stuck in this _place_ with you—would be punishment enough!"

Narcissa stared at him calmly. "And is it?"

He looked away. "Yes," he admitted in a small voice. "It is."

There was a long pause. Draco could not bring himself to face her, so he stayed as he was: gaze fixed on the floor, breathing in an uneven rhythm. The emotions that had welled within him were already fading, slipping back into their little boxes. He felt drained and oddly lost. He wished she would leave.

Narcissa didn't try to reason with him. Perhaps she understood that she would only do more damage if she pushed him further. Instead, she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, a butterfly's caress. He caught a hint of gardenia, and the scent made something ache deep in his heart. She still wore the same perfume.

"Get some rest, my son," Narcissa murmured, pulling back. "You look like you need it."

Draco could not unstick his throat to make any sound, so he just settled for a nod. Narcissa left the room and shut the door softly behind her. The click still sounded too loud. He let out a breath and collapsed back onto the bed, pressing his hands to his face. It was a long time before he fell asleep.

* * *

So, I actually debated for a long time whether I should use Draco's point of view in this story, let alone this chapter. I'm still not entirely sure I have made the right decision, but oh well. It's there now. Make of it what you will.

Anyway, it's almost 1:00am here, so time to get some sleep. If you feel like making me a happy author, be sure to leave a review!


	5. The Manor

So sorry for the delay! My muse decided it needed a break from _Harry Potter_ , and then I moved countries and started a new job, so yeah. Things have been kind of crazy. That said, I hope to get back into regular updates again. :)

* * *

 **The Manor**

Ginny stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot and a little puffy from crying so much the previous night. The dark circles didn't help either. She looked a mess. She looked weak and pathetic. Her lip curled in distaste. This was not the face she wanted to show the world.

"Suck it up, Ginny," she ordered herself. "Are you a Weasley or not?"

Resolve hardened her gaze. She undressed and washed in the bath that she had found in the ensuite bathroom. It felt good to soak in the hot water, though she didn't linger too long. Being clean was what mattered.

Ginny wrapped one of the impossibly fluffy towels around her body and walked back into the bedroom, trailing damp footsteps in her wake. The curtains had been drawn, offering a view of the symmetrical hedges that shaped and bordered the grounds like a maze. She barely spared a glance for the view; instead, her attention was drawn to the tray of food that had been left for her on the bedside table: a plate of sliced fruit, two pieces of toast, some butter and jam, and what looked like a pot of tea. Tinky must have brought the food in while she had been bathing.

"Definitely an upgrade from my usual prison," she muttered.

It seemed that she was to be treated more as a guest than a prisoner while she stayed at the manor. Her nose scrunched a little. It shouldn't annoy her that she was being treated so nicely, but it did. Call it the illogical stubbornness of the proud. Or maybe it was just guilt that niggled at her. She'd still be stuck in that manky room at the Death Eater headquarters if she hadn't made a deal with Voldemort. It made her feel like some cheap whore, as if she'd exchanged her body for a fancy room, even though all she had wanted at the time was to avoid the alternative punishment.

 _Just stop thinking about it_ , she ordered herself.

There was no point beating herself up over her decision. Short of getting her hands on a Time Turner, nothing could change what had happened last night. She'd had sex with Malfoy. Worse, she'd actually enjoyed being with him; it was a shame that she would always carry, but she couldn't afford to let confusion or negative feelings cripple her into acting like some useless sop. It was time to focus. It was time to think about what really mattered, like coming up with an escape plan.

Her stomach gave a low growl. Well, maybe for now she'd just focus on tackling breakfast.

Ginny sat down at the table and nibbled on a peach slice. There was a memo next to the breakfast tray. She picked up the note and read the elegant script, which informed her that everything in the room was hers to use, including the clothes. Future meals would be held in the dining room; a bell would ring to summon her. Other than that, she was free to do as she pleased.

"How nice of them," Ginny said a bit sourly.

Still, the fact that she wasn't being restricted to a single room was something she appreciated. Not just because she would have died from boredom, but because it made it that much easier to come up with a workable escape plan. The manor was ancient and brimming with magic; she could sense that much. That could pose a problem. Wards were impossible to break without a wand or some kind of enchanted item. She had access to neither. Her best option was to create some kind of mental blueprint and assess the building and grounds for weak points.

Ginny sighed and rubbed her temples. Just thinking about what she would need to do to get her freedom was giving her a headache. This was going to be such a pain. She had never been much of a strategist, always preferring the direct approach. Her partners were the ones who had come up with the plans. Even her duelling style lacked subtlety. Charlie had used to tease her about it when they worked together on missions. He had called her the Barbarian Witch: a reference to the berserker class of fighter found in those Muggle games he had taken a fancy to while in Romania. Merlin, she had thought he was such an idiot.

A lump formed in her throat. Charlie. How Ginny wished to have him at her side now. He would have known what to do. He always had. Even in the end, it was his ability to stay calm and fight with his head that had saved her the night they had been ambushed, though it had cost him his life.

" _You're too reckless, you Barbarian Witch."_

" _Hold on, Charlie. Please, hold on! Help is on its way!"_

Ginny blinked to stop the stinging sensation in her eyes. So many of her family had died trying to protect her. Charlie, Ron, her mother, not to mention her friends. They had all placed her life above theirs. It was almost pathetic—at least on her part. She had sworn to herself that she would not be a damsel in distress, but now she could see that, fighting or healing, she had always relied on other people. Still, this time there was no one to save her. This time, she had to be smart and come up with a plan to survive all on her own.

 _I won't fail._

It was a silent oath. Too many people had died so that she could live. It was time for her to stand on her own feet and show that those sacrifices had not been in vain.

 **oOo**

After getting dressed into one of the provided robes, Ginny decided to tackle the grounds first. The decision was part pragmatism and part curiosity. She only knew how to get to the entrance hall, so it made sense to start at the outside before working her way in. Plus, she was intrigued to test what kind of magic was stopping her from leaving. The Refugee Camp had used the shield ward, otherwise known as Wall, to control all entry and exit by creating a corporeal barrier that also protected its inhabitants from offensive spells. There had been other wards woven into Wall—such as making the camp unplottable—but the concept itself was pretty basic. If the manor used something similar, she would at least have a foundation to work with in order to come up with a counter.

In any case, she had to start somewhere.

Ginny stopped in front of the wrought-iron gate that led to the surrounding countryside. This time, no face appeared on the metal. It seemed that the magic was only activated from the other side. She frowned and moved closer. There was no latch, no perceivable way to open the gate. Maybe if she just pushed on it—

"I wouldn't do that if I was you."

She jumped and spun around to see Lara leaning against one of the lantern posts that lined the driveway. As usual, the older woman was dressed in black robes. A Death Eater mask dangled from her fingers.

"You!" Ginny exclaimed. "When did you get here?"

"This morning, obviously." Lara nodded at the gate. "I see you are already trying to escape. Don't tell me you thought it would be as simple as walking out the front entrance."

Ginny raised her chin. "Of course not. Besides, I wasn't trying to escape. I was just curious."

"About the wards?" A faint smile curved Lara's mouth. "They're designed to keep you in and unwanted people out. Why don't you just leave it at that?"

 _Because that would be the defeatist option_ , Ginny wanted to say. Instead, she glanced back at the iron bars. Magic controlled the gate—that much she could tell—but that didn't explain how it was supposed to stop her specifically from leaving. She'd just have to test it for herself. It was the only way to see if she could get around the wards.

Lara let out a sigh. "So stubborn. Well, don't say I didn't warn you." She stepped away from the post and fitted the skull mask over her face. "Try not to get up to too much mischief, girlie."

Ginny blinked. "You're leaving already?"

"Why? Going to miss me?"

The redhead flushed. "No."

Lara laughed and poked her in the cheek. "Look at that blush. You actually are sad to see me leave, aren't you? How cute."

"Shut up!" Ginny swatted at the woman's hand. "Why would I care about any of you? All I want is to get away from this place!"

"Good. Keep your guard up."

"Huh?" Ginny suddenly felt like she was standing on the wrong foot.

Lara took the redhead's chin in her hand, tilting her face so that their eyes met through the slits of the mask. "I warned you, didn't I? Don't trust anyone more than you need, because there are plenty of people who will take advantage of your innocence." A smile crept into her voice. "Just look at you. All I had to do was be a little friendly and you softened right up like butter."

The blood rushed to Ginny's cheeks. "You—I didn't even—"

Lara chuckled and released her chin. "Don't get me wrong. It's an admirable quality, but not very smart." She turned towards the gate. "Just remember, Ginevra: wolves always smile before they bare their teeth. Best not to get too close. You're a very special witch. I'd hate to see that power go to waste."

Having said her piece, Lara moved to walk through the iron bars. Ginny stood where the older woman had left her, face downcast, and her hands balled into fists. A light breeze ruffled her hair.

"So, which are you?" Ginny asked in a low voice.

Lara paused. "Hrm?"

"Everyone keeps talking about my power like I'm so special." Ginny raised her head and glared at the woman's back. "You're a Death Eater as well; there's no reason for you to give me advice or warnings. It's not like anyone else bothers. So, which is it? Do you actually care or are you just another one of these so-called wolves trying to get close?"

Slowly, Lara turned to face Ginny. The white skull mask covered her expression, but something about the slight tilt to her head suggested she was amused. "Isn't that the point? You'll never know."

Ginny sucked in a breath. "You—"

"See you round, girlie." Lara turned her back on the redhead and gave a careless wave. "If you're so desperate for someone to sympathise with you, go find that brooding idiot Draco. You can bond over your mutual frustrations."

Without another word, Lara stepped through the wrought-iron gate as if the bars were a mirage. A second later she had Disapparated. It was so abrupt that for a moment all Ginny could do was blink.

"Bloody hell," Ginny muttered to no one in particular. "I can never figure out that woman."

Even now, she wasn't sure why Lara had bothered to warn her about keeping her guard up. Ginny was well aware that she was surrounded by enemies. Even Narcissa Malfoy, the only non-Death Eater, had proven a useless confidant. The only person who had been even remotely kind to Ginny was Lara herself, and it wasn't like Ginny trusted the woman. She just—well, it was hard not to relax around the brunette sometimes. Lara actually laughed and made jokes, though seeing her wear a Death Eater mask had been unnerving. It was a reminder that Lara probably went out and killed innocent people as well.

Come to think of it, maybe that was why Lara had put the mask on. All to prove her stupid point about wolves and how no one was really trustworthy, blah blah blah. Geez. As if Ginny needed the reminder.

Deciding that there was no point dwelling on the matter further, Ginny turned her attention back to figuring out the wards. Lara had walked right through the gate, so there didn't seem to be any spells or enchantments that needed to be cast in order to pass through. Unless Lara had cast a non-verbal spell?

"Ah, whatever," Ginny muttered. Only one way to find out for sure.

She placed her hand against the bars. Heat pulsed against her palm, and then an invisible force shoved her back. The metal bars twisted and liquefied, morphing into the same nondescript face she had seen when she had first arrived with Malfoy at the manor.

"Permission denied," the face said in its cold, emotionless way.

Ginny clenched her stinging hand into a fist. "So, this metal bastard is the one keeping me locked in, huh?" She leaned forward. "What's the deal? Are you some animate expression of the wards or what? How am I supposed to get permission?"

"The prisoner Ginevra Weasley has not been granted access to leave," the face continued in a monotone. "Disciplinary measures will be taken."

She made a tsking sound and stepped back from the gate. "Guess you're not a very self-aware metal head."

No doubt it had been charmed to only give specific responses. That was a pain. She might have been able to wheedle some clues out of the face if it had been allowed more freedom and personality. Of course, that was why most people put limitations like this in place. No one liked a chatty security system.

Ginny blew the hair out of her face and headed back up the driveway. There was no point sticking around when old Metal Head couldn't answer her questions. Plus, she had no interest in learning what he had meant by "disciplinary measures". Her hand still felt a bit shocky and numb from just touching the gate. No, her best bet now was to see if she could find a "backdoor" somewhere. Hogwarts had certainly had its fair share of secret passages, so it wasn't farfetched to expect an old manor like this to have one.

An albino peacock strolled past her, disappearing down one of the pathways that led deeper into the gardens. Ginny decided to follow. She wasn't ready to return to the main house. The sun felt nice on her skin after being shut inside that manky room at the Death Eater headquarters for so long, and there was a chance that the backdoor she wanted was hidden within the maze of hedges. Either way, she wouldn't know until she looked. It wasn't like she had anything better to do.

She scuffed her shoes against the gravel that lined the path, idly glancing from left to right. Geez, this place was huge. The grounds at first appeared symmetrical, mirroring itself with hedges and fountains like a formal French knot garden. However, as Ginny walked deeper into the maze and the hedged walls got higher, she found pathways that led to different types of gardens: a rose garden with arbours and a small bird fountain; geometrically structured gardens ornamented with perfectly shaped hedges, flowers and shrubs; a long stretch of lawn to play wizard's croquet or Quidditch. Statues and monochrome patterns. A glass house filled with magical plants. Heck, there was even a giant pond full of koi fish.

"This is not what I was expecting," Ginny muttered.

Sadly, none of the gardens had led to secret escape routes. She had even tried climbing the outer wall in a fit of frustration, but the stone had just extended past her reach the more she climbed. No doubt it had been spelled to reach infinite heights. Damn bastards. Her only consolation was that she hadn't expected the Muggle option to work anyway.

Ginny sighed and turned down a new pathway. Climbing jasmine crept over the hedge walls, giving off a pleasant scent. She stopped to breathe in the smell, only to freeze. There was a door concealed by the hedge and veil of white flowers; she wouldn't have even noticed it had she not been keeping an eye out for hidden routes. Intrigued, Ginny brushed the jasmine aside and lifted the latch, pushing the door open.

It was like something from a dream.

There were flowers everywhere: not perfectly groomed or fitted into rows of flowerbeds as she had found with the other gardens, but wild and blending into one another. Narcissus bloomed in pristine white, purples, pinks and blues. There were bleeding hearts, lavender, daisies, delphinium, forget-me-nots, bluebells and freesias. Soft coloured flowers, bright coloured flowers—it should have clashed but somehow it just worked. A rustic seat had been placed near a weeping cherry tree, which (like many of the flowers) had been enchanted to stay in bloom. She found a sundial built into the stump of an old, cut-down tree, and not far from that was a small pond with white lilies blooming on the surface. It was beautiful, stirring her senses with a myriad of scents and colour. Still, what made it really special was that the garden was full of fairies.

The tiny creatures seemed to have made the place their home. Ginny could see them fluttering around on cobweb-thin wings, skimming the pond's surface or reclining on flower petals. Most ignored her, too busy grooming themselves—as fairies were prone to do, since they were notoriously vain—but just the fact that there were fairies living here at all made a lump form in the redhead's throat. It had been so long since she had seen a magical creature that wasn't associated with death and ugliness. She could only imagine how pretty the garden would look at night when the natural glow of the fairies would become more visible.

Ginny sat on the bench. She couldn't help but take a moment to appreciate the sheer expression of beauty and freedom that was the garden. Nothing was bound. Nothing was limited. Magic had allowed the garden to thrive, defying life and death to follow its own seasons. She wondered which Malfoy had decided to create the garden. She wondered if the person had felt just as trapped as she did now, and if this was their form of rebellion or escape.

A soft laugh escaped her lips. "What am I even thinking?"

Maybe it was this place. The manor was so austere and formal, but this little garden felt unabashedly human in all its contradictions and dream-like design. It reminded her of happier times—of a world before Voldemort took control and painted the world ugly with war. If she closed her eyes, she could almost see the garden at the Burrow that she and Ron used to de-gnome in summer, or the massive Christmas trees that Flitwick had set up at Hogwarts, which had been lit with real fairies. All those precious memories. All those moments that could never be relived.

Ginny let out a breath. Geez, she was getting sentimental again.

"It's just a garden," she muttered. There was no reason to act like a fool.

Annoyed, she stood up abruptly. Her foot nudged something that had been tucked under the bench. She frowned and knelt to pick up the object, which turned out to be a book. The cover was a soft cream and had clearly been charmed so that it would not be damaged by the elements. Her heart quickened. There was no title. A silver ribbon dangled free of the pages, just like a marker. It looked like a journal.

She dropped the book as if burnt.

 _Calm down,_ she ordered, even as her chest tightened as if gripped by an invisible hand. Her breathing sharpened. _It's not Tom's diary. It's not even the same colour._

She exhaled shakily. That was better. Breathe. Just inhale and exhale. Ignore the panic fluttering at the corners of her mind. Ignore the memories of blood-covered roosters and a handsome boy who had tried to steal her soul. It was just a book. Just a silly book.

Ginny knelt again and picked up the journal. Her fingers brushed the edge of the cover, though she made no move to open it to the front page. Magic was unpredictable, and there was no saying if a hex had been placed on the journal. Maybe if she was younger or at least had a wand she would have risked opening it to satisfy her curiosity, but the memories of Tom Riddle were still too fresh in her mind. She couldn't bring herself to look.

Sighing, she slipped the journal into her pocket and exited the garden. It took longer than expected to make it back to the manor. She took a few wrong turns and ended up at some empty stables. It didn't look as if any animals had been kept there for a long time. Ginny didn't linger and headed for the main building. She found herself in a herb garden outside what she guessed was the kitchen. The narrow door was nowhere near as grand as the front entrance and there was a bucket of apples sitting by the steps. A few hens wandered around, clucking and scratching at the dirt.

Tinky the house-elf appeared in front of her with a small pop. "Is Miss okay?" the elf asked. "Guests do not usually come to this area."

Ginny resisted the urge to point out that she wasn't a guest. She supposed prisoners did not normally hang out around places like this either. Plus, she knew the elf was just being polite. It was obvious she had got lost.

"This is the kitchen, right?" she said, pointing at the door.

Tinky nodded. "If Miss is hungry, Tinky asks that Miss please be patient. Lunch will be served at noon in the dining room."

"Oh, it's fine," Ginny said, making a negating gesture with her hand. "I'm not hungry. I was just having a look around."

"Then Tinky will be leaving."

The elf vanished with a pop. Ginny blinked. Everyone here was always so abrupt. She decided not to let it put her off and entered through the kitchen door anyway. As expected, the kitchen was very large. There was a massive oven, many wide benches for food preparation, and tiers of cupboards and shelves. Priceless crystal and silverware could be seen through the glass. Dried herbs dangled from the roof, filling the room with delicious scents. It was a kitchen made for a small army of house-elves, but only Tinky stood at the bench using magic to cut up slices of cold ham and cheese. It seemed they were having sandwiches for lunch.

"Where are all the other elves?" Ginny questioned.

Tinky compressed his lips into a thin line (or was it her lips? Ginny still hadn't figured out the elf's sex; it was kind of hard when Tinky was only wearing a pillowcase). "Miss should not be in here," Tinky said, moving towards Ginny. Small hands suddenly shoved at her back. "Please leave."

"H-hey, wait a second. I—"

The door on the opposite side magically opened. Ginny found herself being pushed out, and then the door swung shut behind her, leaving her standing alone in a hallway. How rude. She'd just asked a question; it wasn't like she had demanded the elf go against its master to help her.

"What's with this place?" she muttered.

Something definitely was off about the manor. Or maybe it was just the Malfoys in general. Narcissa was a traitor who should have been killed but now lived under house arrest thanks to her son's intervention. Meanwhile, said son had to ask permission to enter his own home and appeared to have no wish to be around his mother. Even the house-elf didn't seem overly happy.

Ginny frowned. There were too many secrets. Try as she might to remain disinterested, she couldn't help but feel a prickle of curiosity. Something had happened four years ago. She didn't know what or why, but she got the sense it was the reason the prestigious Malfoy family had become the broken thing that it was now. Perhaps it would also explain that strange argument she had overhead between her brother and Malfoy.

 _"You double-crossing bastard! I'll kill you!"_

 _"Double-crossing? I have no idea what you're talking about."_

 _"Don't play dumb! Because of you—because of you, Harry was—"_

 _"I only gave back what you deserved. If anything, it was you and your friends who crossed_ me _."_

Her brow creased. She still had no idea why Ron had called Malfoy a double-crossing bastard, let alone why Malfoy had accused her brother and his friends of actually being the ones to betray him. Just what the hell had happened four years ago? And what did it have to do with Harry?

"Why are you even thinking about this now?" she scolded herself.

One, Malfoy had killed her brother. Whatever his secrets or history, what mattered was who he was now. From what she could see, that man was an unhinged bastard who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted—even to the point of hurting her and breaking her wand. Any tragic sob stories he was hiding meant nothing. In fact, the Malfoys in general should mean nothing to her. Getting caught up in their lives would not solve her problems, nor would it change what had happened in the past. She was only here as a prisoner; all she had to do was focus on escaping.

Even if she still felt a bit curious.

Even if the journal in her pocket felt suddenly heavier, as if taunting her with the potential secrets that could be learnt.

Ginny gritted her teeth. She marched down the hallway, making her way through what was undoubtedly the servants' quarters. The ceiling was lower, the corridors narrower, and the whole décor was much plainer. It struck her as being very empty. She guessed that Tinky really was the only house-elf working in the manor.

Eventually, she got to the main part of the house. At least, she could only assume that was the case since everything got big and fancy again. She still had no real idea where she was going. Not that this bothered her. Since her intention was simply to explore, it wasn't a big deal that she was wandering around and opening doors at random. A person couldn't really be lost if they had no destination.

It was while she was exploring that she stumbled across the library. Her first thought was that Hermione would have loved the place; there were books everywhere. Every inch of wall was covered in shelves packed to the brim except for the large windows that overlooked a courtyard. There were also rows of books set up in the middle area. She even spotted a section just for scrolls.

"Wow," she murmured.

She had never cared much for reading, but this was certainly an impressive collection. The books all varied in size and colour, but she could tell from one glance that most would probably fetch a hefty sum. The Malfoys must have been adding to it for years.

Ginny walked further into the library, taking note of the cushy leather chairs and thick velvet curtains. It was a nice room. It actually felt like it had been lived in. That was when she caught sight of a figure seated at the mahogany desk. Stacks of books and scrolls had been piled on top of the desk, almost obscuring the person from view. Still, there was no mistaking that shock of white-blond hair.

She froze. A part of her wanted to turn around and quickly leave, but something made her hesitate. Maybe it was because Malfoy hadn't even noticed her presence; he was too busy reading from what looked like a very ancient text and scribbling down notes on a piece of parchment. She wondered what he was doing.

A bell chimed from somewhere within the manor. Malfoy rolled his shoulders and turned the page.

"I'm pretty sure that's the lunch bell," Ginny observed.

Malfoy flinched and dropped his quill. His head snapped up and he zeroed in on her position. "How long have you been standing there?" he demanded.

"Not long," she admitted. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

She repressed the urge to roll her eyes. So, he was in a snarky mood. Rather than retort in kind, she walked closer and peered over the stack of books to look at what he had been researching. Or at least tried. All she got was a glimpse of a diagram that looked like a coiled snake before Malfoy's hand slammed the book shut. His notes vanished a second later.

"That looked like the stone I saw in your memories," she said without thinking.

Malfoy twitched. "Mind your own business."

Ginny wanted to retort: to remind him that it was her business as well, because they had both been dragged into this mess because of the supposed ancient magic they possessed. Instead, quite different words came out of her mouth.

"I saw Lara earlier." Ginny met his eyes. "Did Voldemort send her here?"

Malfoy's gaze slid away from hers. "You shouldn't say his name," he said almost absently.

"I don't care about that. Besides, you didn't answer my question."

He just shrugged. It occurred to her that he looked exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot and shadowed with dark circles. For some reason, this irritated her.

"Malfoy—"

"Merlin, just shut up!" he snapped. "She came to check on me, alright? Now piss off!"

Ginny blinked. Malfoy glared at her with such pointed intensity that she found herself taking the hint. She left the library and headed to the dining room for lunch. Malfoy never did join her.


	6. Uncontrolled

Thank you so much to roni2010, WeasleyIsMyKing540, and NTA123 for the reviews! Feedback is a precious thing for an author, so I really do appreciate all of your comments!

* * *

 **Uncontrolled**

The room was silent except for the steady breathing coming from the young wizard lying on the bed. He did not move when the door opened and a man with crimson eyes walked in, nor did he make any protest when the long fingers of his intruder caressed his face, tracing the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. He had might as well have been dead for all the movement he made—a fact that seemed to amuse his visitor to no end.

"To think I was ever scared of a boy like you," Voldemort murmured. "You see how the tables have turned, Potter? Now it is you who clings to life and I who am protected."

The candles flickered as the door opened and shut with a soft click. Voldemort did not turn. There was only one person who would have dared to enter without permission.

"What is it, Lara?" he asked smoothly. "You know I do not like to be disturbed."

"Draco is getting worse."

He waved off her words with a careless hand. "We always knew it was a possibility. What matters is the ritual was completed."

"Even if it consumes him?"

Voldemort deigned to look at her then. "You almost sound upset." A half-smile curved his lips. "Don't tell me you actually have feelings for the boy."

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Don't be ridiculous. I just think it is a waste to leave him like this. He could still be useful. If you just let me—"

"I want you here," Voldemort cut in. His tone left no room for argument.

Lara's hand flexed, as if she was resisting the urge to ball it into a fist. His eyes narrowed a fraction. If only he could penetrate her mind. She and Dumbledore were the only people he had never been able to read. Not even a glimpse. Their minds were endless walls that shut him out no matter how hard he tried to force his way. It was frustrating. Unfortunately, she was too useful to kill on a whim of paranoia. He just had to trust her the old-fashioned way. Well, as much as he could trust anyone.

"I'm still waiting for your answer," he reminded her.

Her eyes flickered to his, vivid and unreadable. She lowered into a bow. "Of course, my lord. I would not dream of going against your orders."

He pursed his lips. The words were spoken respectfully, but that didn't mean anything. She had always been a slippery woman, just like Lucius Malfoy.

"I hope you remember that promise, Lara," he said softly. "I would hate to have to dispose of you."

She smiled and placed her hand to her heart, still half-stooped in a bow. "My lord rules all of Britain and even now continues to spread his influence over the world; I would be a fool to go against you."

Voldemort couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged at his lips. It was true that he had accomplished many great things. Still, it was not enough. He needed that child. Once he performed the Hadem Rhi and took the magic for himself, it would not matter who crossed him. He would be invincible. For now, however—and his eyes darted back to the boy with the lightning scar—he would have to rely on other means until the child was ready for the sacrifice.

"This conversation is over," Voldemort said, dismissing her with a glance. "Focus on the task you have been given. That is all I desire from you."

Lara bowed again in acknowledgement, but then she paused. "My lord, what if the restraints break?"

Voldemort paused. He knew she was referring to the magic seals that kept the majority of Draco's magic contained. Even Voldemort had known it was too dangerous to let the curse run rampant.

"Are you saying that is a possibility?" he asked.

"Draco's state of mind is unstable. I have also felt dark spikes of energy coming from him of late." She shook her head. "There's no saying what will happen if he continues as he is."

Voldemort was silent for a moment. "Very well," he conceded. "It's true I would prefer to keep him around until the child is born."

"Then may I—"

"You will stay here as ordered," he said sharply. "Someone else will be placed in charge of his care. I intended to place an extra guard at the manor anyway."

Lara's hand flexed again. Voldemort moved closer, tilting her chin up so that she was forced to meet his eyes.

"I do not know why you wish to save that boy so much, but he is no longer your concern." He let go of her face and stepped back. "You have your orders, Lara. Do not make me repeat myself."

She exhaled and dipped her head in acknowledgement. "Yes, my lord."

Voldemort watched her leave the room and close the door behind her. A faint crease formed on his brow. For all his dismissive attitude towards her warning, he had to admit that he was surprised. The Nemesis Stone's magic seemed to be more volatile than expected. Either that or Draco was, in fact, just a weak vessel. That was a pity; he had thought he had found the perfect combination in the young Malfoy. It almost did feel like a waste after all the years he had spent nurturing the boy.

"Well, it doesn't really matter," Voldemort murmured, shifting his gaze back to Potter's emaciated face.

His plans were already in motion and Draco had served his main purpose. A defective tool was of no use to anyone. If the boy was consumed by the Nemesis Stone's magic, that was his own problem. All Voldemort cared about was getting the power he desired.

Immortality and invulnerability; it certainly did have a nice ring.

 **oOo**

Draco fisted his hands into his hair. He wasn't making any solid headway in his research. The jade stone he had seen in his memories had been referenced in only one of his father's books—the Nemesis Stone, the author had called it—but there had barely been any information written about it. All he had learnt was that the stone was said to have some kind of link to Salazar Slytherin; everything else just detailed the ritual that Voldemort had performed on him as a baby.

" _Why choose me?"_

" _It was your destiny."_

Draco snorted a bit at the memory of his conversation with the Dark Lord. Destiny? Yeah right. Draco did not believe in destiny. He believed in himself: his own strength, his own cunning. He didn't like that there was something within him that was outside of his control.

" _You should be honoured. Many purebloods would kill to have such magic."_

The blond gritted his teeth. As if he could feel honoured. He wasn't like the others who fawned over the Dark Lord; he didn't care about having power if it meant it would only inconvenience him. Besides, the magic wasn't a gift. It sounded more like a curse.

" _You are a living force of dark magic. Everything vulnerable to you will become corrupted. We can use that."_

His hands balled into fists. There was so little he understood. All he knew was that he had been used—perhaps had been so for years. The way the Dark Lord spoke made it sound like getting Ginny Weasley pregnant was not the only thing that had been wanted from him. It was so frustrating, so sickening. No wonder the Dark Lord had always shown him favour. No wonder the weakness Draco had displayed as a teenager—those moments of compassion and hesitance that had never been tolerated in any other Death Eater—had been met with forgiveness.

Well, if forgiveness meant suffering torture and threats instead of death.

A sharp cracking sound snapped him from his thoughts. He blinked to see that the glass of water that had been resting on the desk had splintered. Water leaked through the cracks, soaking onto the mahogany wood and dampening his notes. His hands still trembled with barely contained magic.

"You're losing control," a far too familiar, and very unwanted, voice observed.

All the breath got caught in Draco's throat. He raised his head to see his aunt walking towards him, calm yet almost taunting, like a predator stalking her prey. As usual, she was cloaked in black and her dark hair spilled over her shoulders in tangled waves, as if she had forgotten how to use a hairbrush long ago. Given the time she had spent in Azkaban, it could have been true.

"Aunt," he managed to choke out. "What are you—"

"I'm here to keep an eye on things." Her lips curved into an unnerving smile, even as she picked up the cracked glass to admire his handiwork. "It seems the Dark Lord wishes to keep this business within the family."

Draco's pulse throbbed in his throat. Bellatrix must have noticed his unease, for she placed the glass down and leaned forward, taking his chin in her hand.

"There's no need to look so troubled, Nephew," she told him almost cooingly. "I'm only here to help you."

That did not comfort him at all. Bellatrix had been his mentor when he had first been initiated into the Death Eaters. While he was grateful for all she had taught him, he also knew that her mind was a few cores loose of a wand. Being close to her was like flirting with a werewolf on the full moon; it was just plain stupid.

"I have everything under control here," Draco said, trying to force his emotions back into their boxes. He had to be calm.

Bellatrix tightened her grip on his chin. "Do you?"

He swallowed. Her nails dug into his skin, sharp enough to hurt. She smiled and then softened her touch into a caress. A shiver prickled down his spine. It took everything in him to stay still and not wrench his face away.

"Silly boy," she murmured. "You're so agitated you've let your defences down. I know I taught you better than this."

He scrambled to strengthen the walls protecting his mind, but of course it was too late. She had caught him out: seen all his unease and doubt, his frustration and fear.

Bellatrix's eyes met his: dark and fractured with a madness that had never truly healed, not even after all the years she had spent free from Azkaban. "Those thoughts in which you have been indulging are getting dangerously close to treachery," she said in a soft voice. "Tell me, Nephew, are you planning to betray your master?"

There was a lump stuck in his throat. He swallowed against it, trying to force it down like a gag-inducing pill.

"Well?" she prompted.

"You know I'm a loyal Death Eater," he muttered, lowering his gaze.

It was true enough. He'd lost his enthusiasm for doing the Dark Lord's work the moment he was sixteen years old and had realised what it actually entailed. Almost six years later and that sense of resignation had only got worse. Still, he knew that betraying the Dark Lord would not do him any good. The one time he had even toyed with the idea had quickly been stamped to nothing. Good deeds did not bring good rewards; it was a lesson that reality had taken cruel delight in teaching him. To survive, to end this war, he had to continue the path that he had been offered when he was sixteen.

He had to serve Lord Voldemort.

Bellatrix let go of his chin. "I'm glad to hear that." She smoothed his hair down and patted his cheek. "You are my only nephew. I would hate to have to hurt you."

"No you wouldn't."

The words were out before he could stop them. Bellatrix laughed and bared her teeth in a grin.

"You're wrong there, Draco. You're a very special wizard. Why do you think the Dark Lord put up with your snivelling weakness for so long?"

His stomach clenched. So, it was true.

"Though," she allowed, "I suppose you did get better. You can actually kill and torture now."

He said nothing. It wasn't like he took enjoyment in carrying out the Dark Lord's orders. Not like his aunt. For her, it was all a pleasurable, sadistic rush; for him, it was just a necessity.

Bellatrix moved to stand behind him. "I always wondered whether there was more to the magic you were gifted." Her hand touched his shoulder, trailing in a caress to play with his collar and allowing her fingers to slip past the fabric to his skin. He felt her lips brush against his ear. "Who knew it would be like this?"

This time, he couldn't help it. He bolted out of the chair and put some space between them, chest rising and falling rapidly. Bellatrix laughed—high-pitched yet somehow cracked and raspy at the same time.

"Are you scared of me, Nephew?" she taunted.

Draco pulled himself together. "I'm not scared. I just don't want you touching me."

She smiled and opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of the door opening distracted her. Both turned to see Weasley pause on the threshold. The redhead's eyes widened when she spotted his aunt. Rage twisted her features a second later, and then she was striding forward.

"You!" Weasley cried. "You're the one who killed my mother!"

Draco caught her before she could get any further. He dragged her back against his chest.

"Let me go!" she screamed. "I'm going to kill that—"

"Calm down!" he hissed in her ear.

She struggled, but he just tightened his grip on her arms. Bellatrix tilted her head to the side as she watched the two of them. The way Bellatrix stared at Weasley made her look like a cat with a cream pot. She even licked her lips.

"Well, well," Bellatrix said in her cooing way, "if it isn't the little blood-traitor."

Draco tensed. He felt Weasley do the same, as if every nerve in her body had been zapped.

Bellatrix stalked towards them. "I remember your mother, girl. She screamed most wonderfully for me." Her teeth flashed in a cruel smile. "Do you want to know what I did to her before I killed her?"

Weasley lurched against his hold, snarling and spitting a string of curses. Of course this just made Bellatrix laugh.

"It seems I hit a nerve," she observed.

Draco tightened his grip on Weasley's arms in a quick, warning squeeze. It didn't exactly calm the girl down, but it at least got her to shut up. "We're leaving," he told his aunt shortly.

Bellatrix's hooded gaze flickered with amusement. "Are you feeling sorry for the blood-traitor, Draco?"

He ignored the taunt. Instead, he turned his back on the older woman and marched Weasley out of the room with him. It was a relief when he pushed the door shut. In truth, he was surprised his aunt had even let them leave. It wasn't like her to allow her victims to escape.

"You idiot," Draco muttered, not pausing for a moment as he began dragging Weasley down the hallway. The more distance between them and that room, the better. "What did you think you were doing?"

"That woman tortured and murdered my mother!" Weasley growled, still trying to thrash her way out of his grip.

"And what would you have done?" he retorted. "You don't have a wand. You don't have anything you can use to fight with or protect yourself."

"I don't care!"

"Well, you should!" He spun her around, pushing her back up against the wall and pinning her in place. "I don't know whether you're insane or just plain stupid, but you can't—"

His voice failed him. Now that he could see her face, he could also see the tears that clung to her lashes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. She rubbed a hand angrily against her eyes and averted her face.

Draco released her arms. "Just promise you won't challenge my aunt," he said more softly. "She's not—she's not right in the head. Hurting people is just a game to her."

"And it's not to you?"

He couldn't help his tiny flinch. Weasley's tone was vicious and jarred him after the vulnerability he had glimpsed in her eyes a moment ago. The fact that she had got to him at all was frustrating.

"You think you're any better than that woman?" Weasley demanded. "You're the one who kidnapped me and brought me to Voldemort! You're the one who killed Ron!"

He swallowed. "I—"

"You're all just as bad as each other!"

Draco gritted his teeth. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, don't I?" She inclined her body forward, chest almost touching his. "Then do enlighten me how a murdering, Death Eater bastard like yourself is any different from the murdering, Death Eater psycho you call 'Aunt'?"

His eyes narrowed. They were both breathing heavily, gazes locked in an intense glare. Eventually, he stepped back.

"Just stay away from Aunt Bellatrix," he warned. "She's not a merciful woman."

He started to walk away, but Weasley's words made him pause.

"Did you even feel anything?"

Draco tensed. "What?"

"You said you killed Ron because he was in your way." Her voice harshened, lashing against him like a whip. "Even you must know that only a monster could do that and feel nothing."

His hands trembled. He curled his fingers into his palms to stifle the motion.

There was a scuffing sound, as if she had just taken a step towards him. "Or maybe the truth is that you did enjoy it," she continued. "I mean, you did say that he betrayed you in some way, and it's not like you hesitated to attack him with that black-coloured curse." He heard her take another step. "What even happened four years ago? What—"

"Shut up!" He rounded on her in a flash. "You don't have a clue about anything, so just shut the hell up!"

She raised her chin. "You stole the last of my family from me! The least you can do is explain why you—"

But Draco didn't hear the rest of her words. There was a roaring in his ears, getting louder by the second. Memories rushed through his mind: the snowy clearing sheltered by trees, the deal that had been made, and then the moment when he realised how foolish he had been.

That awful moment when reality had come crashing down and he'd been forced to sacrifice everything.

Something welled within him: dark, powerful, and almost begging for release. A sharp spike of pain lanced through his head. It was so hard to focus. His vision splintered and flickered in a blur of black and white flashes. Dimly, he could hear someone saying his name—always the surname—but even that was fading. He stumbled back a few steps. It felt like his body was shaking all over, or was that the ground? Even he didn't know anymore.

" _Prove your loyalty, Draco. Prove that you will do whatever your lord asks of you." A calculated pause. "Or is it that your family is worth more to you?"_

Something hard collided with his cheek. A shudder passed through him, and just like that the writhing swell of energy vanished. It took him a moment to realise that Weasley had slapped him. The redhead stood in front of him, face pale and her eyes wide. Alarmed?

"What the hell was that?" she demanded. "You just—you just freaked out and started letting off a tonne of uncontrolled magic."

Draco blinked in a daze as he took in their surroundings. Sure enough, scorch marks coated the walls in black stains where the candles had flared. There were cracks gouged into the hallway, spreading like jagged webs from where he stood.

"I—" He swallowed, tried again.

Weasley continued to stare at him, waiting for an answer he could not give. Draco saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see Bellatrix advancing towards him with her wand drawn.

The last thing he saw was a flash of red.

 **oOo**

Someone was stroking his hair. It was so soothing, so familiar. He couldn't bring himself to pull back from the contact. The scent of gardenia tickled his senses, and then strands of silky softness tickled his cheek. He felt the person press their lips to his forehead in a light kiss.

Draco stirred and his eyelashes fluttered open. "Mother?"

Narcissa met his gaze calmly. "How are you feeling?"

He pushed himself into a sitting position, letting the covers fall from his chest. It seemed that he had been taken to his room and laid to rest in bed. That's right: Bellatrix had knocked him out with a stunning spell. He placed a hand to his head, which still throbbed a little, but he otherwise felt fine. If he had to pinpoint what was wrong with him, he'd say it was just that he didn't understand what was going on. He couldn't believe that he had lost control like that.

"Do you remember what happened?" a much raspier voice asked.

Draco glanced past his mother's shoulder to see Bellatrix leaning against the door. He swallowed, wondering why she was asking him such a strange question.

"Shouldn't I?" he responded.

Narcissa lowered her gaze. "This isn't the first—"

"Cissy!"

His aunt narrowed her eyes at the blonde. Narcissa curled her fingers into her robe, but she still fell silent. Draco glanced between the two women. They were keeping something from him.

"Are you telling me that something like this has happened before?" he demanded.

He wasn't stupid. He could guess what his mother had been about to say.

Bellatrix held his gaze, deliberating for a moment. "You were eighteen," she said finally. "Selwyn was the one who calmed you down." Her lips twisted. "That was the day that woman first joined our ranks."

"Lara?" he questioned.

His aunt's expression soured even more. She had never liked Lara Selwyn.

"You didn't remember what happened," Narcissa explained, picking up the story. "Lara said that was to be expected and that we should just leave you be; it would be gentler on your mind that way."

Draco tried to think back to the day he had first met Lara. He found his memories were too hazy to piece anything together. All he remembered was when he had seen her with the Dark Lord after getting summoned to the man's office. If she had helped him before or after then, he had no recollection of it.

"Well, it seems like you're back to normal now anyway," Bellatrix said, stepping away from the door. "Do try not to tear down the manor again while I'm here. As your dear father would have said, it's really not becoming of a Malfoy." A laugh escaped her lips. "Ah, but then you're not really a Malfoy now, are you?"

He gritted his teeth as he met her cruel smile. Bellatrix laughed again—harsh and grating—and then she left the room. Now, mother and son were alone. Draco avoided Narcissa's gaze.

"Are you really okay?" Narcissa asked after a moment. "I can—"

"I'm fine," he said shortly. "I just want to be alone."

Her lips pursed, but then she sighed and got to her feet. "Very well."

He stared at a point on the wall, listening to her footsteps fade and the door click shut. Once she was gone, he let his defences drop. A shudder passed through his body and he pressed his face to his palms.

"Why did I lose control like that?" he asked in a hushed voice.

But of course there was no one who could give him an explanation. No one he could trust at the very least. He was on his own here, and he didn't understand what the hell was going on anymore.

It was a long time before his hands stopped trembling.

 **oOo**

Malfoy did not turn up for dinner. Ginny told herself that it didn't matter. He was a messed up bastard who didn't deserve a shred of her concern. So what if she'd been the one to snap him out of his weird trance earlier. So what if he'd looked all lost and fragile when he'd realised what he'd done. It didn't matter. It _shouldn't_ matter. He was her enemy. He had killed her brother.

But the fact that he was skipping meals again still bugged her.

A sigh escaped her lips. She placed her fork down. Fine, maybe one question wouldn't hurt. Just to satisfy her curiosity, of course. It wasn't like she cared or anything.

Ginny stared at the blonde who sat opposite her. "Is Malfoy—is he okay?"

Narcissa's cutlery clanged a little too loudly against her plate.

"I saw what he did earlier," Ginny explained. "The uncontrolled magic, I mean."

Not to mention the fact that Bellatrix had knocked him out and whisked him away without even sparing the redhead a glance. That had probably been the most unnerving part of all.

"My son is fine," Narcissa said, meeting her gaze for a brief moment. "He's just resting."

Ginny took the hint and let the matter drop. Not that it was as easy to banish the incident from her mind. Something had definitely happened four years ago. Malfoy would not have got so angry had there been nothing. She wondered if she would ever learn the truth. She wondered where her brother and Harry fit into the events.

Her brow furrowed and she went back to picking at her food. Eventually, Bellatrix joined them, practically slinking into the room like a cat who was far too pleased with herself. It seemed the woman would also be staying at the manor. Ginny took that as her cue to leave the dinner table.

"Finished already?" Bellatrix asked, raising one of her thin eyebrows.

"Lost my appetite," Ginny responded, making it clear with her tone why.

Bellatrix actually cackled. "Mouthy little blood-traitor. You're lucky the Dark Lord said I'm not allowed to curse you."

Ginny said nothing. She'd never admit it aloud, but it was a relief to know that Bellatrix would have to restrain her sadistic tendencies or risk getting in her master's bad books. Still, Ginny didn't think it would be a good idea to push her luck. Malfoy had been right about that: the older woman was as crazy as they came and was known to have a temper. Ginny wasn't exactly the best at staying calm either.

The redhead escaped to her room and threw herself on the bed. Now that she was alone, all the frustration and turmoil from earlier came back. It had only been three days since she had arrived at the manor with Malfoy, and already she felt like she was going insane. It was like everything in this place—including its inhabitants—wanted to push her emotions to the edge.

How was she supposed to play nice with Bellatrix?

Why was she even letting Malfoy get to her when he had done so many awful things? It was just sex. Just sex and a few moments where he hadn't acted like a complete bastard, and—

She huffed and rolled onto her side. Something dug into her thigh. Ginny frowned and reached into her pocket, pulling out the cream book she had found in the garden. For lack of knowing what to do with the journal, she had taken to carrying it around with her, though she had not opened it. Now, her eyes narrowed on the cover. Maybe it was because of what had happened earlier; maybe she was just tired of having questions that never got answered. Either way, she gripped the corner and flipped the journal open.

There was no rush of magic. No blank pages magically enchanted to snatch her soul away as had been the case with Tom Riddle's diary. Instead, a few words had been written in a small, elegant script:

 _I guess even written words don't come easily to me._

 _I miss him._

Ginny blinked. She flipped over the page, but there didn't seem to be any more text. Not even a date or a name. The rest of the journal was filled with charcoal sketches: flowers in all states of bloom, fairies skimming over the pond, birds with wings spread in flight—even a few statues she recognised from her walk in the garden. They were beautiful, skilful. Still, there was something lacking. None of the pictures seemed to have any soul, as if the artist took no joy in the images.

The redhead frowned and kept flicking through the pages. She paused when she came to a portrait. It was a sketch of Draco Malfoy, or at least as he had looked when he was still in his late teens. No detail had been forgotten. It was obvious the artist had spent hours and hours getting each stroke exact. His face, his eyes; it was all perfect. The only thing Ginny did not recognise was the smile that curved his lips. She'd never seen him make such a sweet expression—not in all the years she had known him—but then maybe he had only reserved that one for the artist.

She turned the page and found another portrait of the blond. The next was the same, along with the next, and the next. At some point the artist had tried to imagine what he would look like older. Ginny could see the subtle differences; it wasn't far off from how he'd actually turned out either. Words were sometimes scrawled onto the margin:

 _I want to see him._

 _Does he think of me?_

 _Will he ever forgive me?_

She turned to the last page. The final portrait had been scribbled out, but beyond the messy lines she could see that it would have been a sketch of Malfoy. Words were written underneath:

 _Nothing has changed. I can't even draw._

 _Somehow, it hurts more when I know it's not impossible_. _Lucius taught me everything about the manor. I could leave. I could find him, see him, hold him. Fear is all that holds me back._

 _I don't want to see him suffer again._

 _This is my punishment._

Ginny closed the journal. She didn't know how she felt. Sad? Disappointed? She had thought the journal would give her answers, but it seemed to be nothing more than a collection of thoughts and images that depicted Narcissa Malfoy's loneliness. Only two sentences from the whole book were of any use to her:

 _Lucius taught me everything about the manor. I could leave._

That right there was proof that there was some kind of backdoor to circumvent the wards. Ginny just had to find it. She doubted Narcissa would be willing to help her escape; it sounded like the woman wouldn't do anything to put Malfoy at risk.

Ginny exhaled and lay back against the pillow. It was hard to relax. Her mind was buzzing, too awake and unsettled after everything that had happened. She wasn't sure how she was going to face Narcissa again after reading the woman's journal; the love and raw emotion that Narcissa felt for her son had been imprinted into every sketch, every word.

"Guess you weren't lying when you said all you care about is Malfoy, huh?" Ginny mused aloud.

Still, the question lingered: just what had happened four years ago to change everything?

 **oOo**

The room was quiet. Bellatrix sprawled out on a chair, ankles crossed. She sipped a glass of wine. The fireplace flared brighter, and then a head was bobbing amongst the flames.

"Well, isn't this a charming surprise," Bellatrix observed in a dry tone. Her eyes suddenly narrowed. "Looking at your face was not on my agenda tonight, Selwyn. What do you want?"

Lara furrowed her brow. "What happened earlier?"

Bellatrix's lips curved into a malicious grin. "What, can't you tell with your little powers?"

The brunette didn't let the taunt get to her; in fact, hardly anything Bellatrix said ruffled those self-important feathers. It was one of the things she detested most about the younger witch.

"I know something happened with Draco," Lara said bluntly. "Just tell me if he is stable or not."

Bellatrix waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Everything is fine. The boy just threw a tantrum, that's all. Nothing to worry your pretty head about."

"If you're—"

"He's my nephew," Bellatrix cut in, no longer smiling. "I am keeping an eye on him, just like the Dark Lord ordered." A hint of spite flickered in her eyes. "Besides, are you sure you should be talking to me about this? I know the Dark Lord gave you a specific task; it wouldn't be good if you failed him because you were too busy nosing into what's happening with Draco."

Lara's mouth twisted a fraction. Ah, it seemed the boy was a weakness.

"Just remember that the seals on his power must not be broken," Lara said, sounding a bit grim. "We'll all be in trouble if that happens."

Bellatrix bared her teeth in what might have been a smile. "Of course. I'm well aware that the Dark Lord does not wish for Draco to access the full power of the Nemesis Stone." She uncrossed her ankles and leaned forward, staring straight into Lara's eyes. "He gave me additional orders, you see. If the boy can't keep it together then I will take action."

"Action?"

"What else do you do with a rabid dog?" Bellatrix questioned, raising her eyebrow. "You put it down."

Lara's jaw tightened. "You don't seem too concerned at the thought."

"The Dark Lord's orders are absolute." Bellatrix's eyes narrowed. "You don't expect me to betray my master, do you?"

A light laugh. "Of course not."

Bellatrix leaned back against her chair. "In any case, you can rest assured that I'll be keeping an eye on my nephew and his magic." She waved her hand in another airy gesture. "I recommend you focus on your own task, Selwyn."

Lara had to be satisfied with that. The flames flared again and then her head disappeared from the fireplace. Bellatrix smiled and swirled her wine around the rim of her glass.

"And now the waiting game begins," she murmured.


	7. Like Gossamer Threads

**Like Gossamer Threads**

Ginny woke up early the next day to resume her search for the "backdoor" she had read about in Narcissa's journal. A part of her knew that it wasn't going to be as simple as opening a door and finding the passage. More than likely the entrance would be protected by a password, maybe a portrait, or even just a hidden wall that could only be accessed through the right combination of touches and words. That was how it had been at Hogwarts; that was just how these things worked in the magical world, and there was no denying that the manor was magic. Still, it wasn't like Ginny had anything better to do. She'd run her fingers along every wall and check every portrait if that was what it took; the real problem was not letting the Malfoys and Bellatrix catch on to what she was doing.

The last thing she wanted was to get locked up again.

She frowned as she wandered the beautiful corridors. Most of the doors that she had come across had been locked. That was frustrating. She had also noticed that the portraits never spoke in the manor. Many of the pale-faced witches and wizards would follow her progress with their eyes, but they never called out to her as had been the case at Hogwarts. Perhaps they had been charmed silent. Ginny decided to try her theory on the portrait of a girl dressed in Renaissance-styled robes.

"Good morning," she greeted.

The girl turned her nose up at Ginny and disappeared from the portrait, leaving only the table and chair where she had been sitting. Ginny's brow furrowed. Okay, maybe that witch had been a poor choice. She tried again on a few more portraits, but her reception wasn't much different: all she got were varying looks of disgust, cool stares, or the subjects vanished entirely. None of them spoke.

"What are you doing?"

Ginny flinched and turned to see Narcissa. The woman's expression was calm, but that didn't stop the heat from rising to Ginny's cheeks. Not only had she just been caught getting snubbed by portraits, but she was all too conscious of the fact that she had read this woman's diary. All those heart-felt sketches, all the confessions scribbled in fragmented sentences.

 _What happened four years ago?_

The words burned the tip of Ginny's tongue. She swallowed them back and instead gestured to the portraits. "How come they don't talk?"

Narcissa glanced at the portraits. "I suppose you would find it strange," she said. "I've grown so used to the silence."

"Then they did talk once?"

A faint smile curved Narcissa's lips. "Yes."

Ginny waited for the blonde to elaborate, but Narcissa merely recommended that Ginny not waste her time with the portraits. Any secrets the manor had left to give had been silenced a long time ago. Certainly the portraits had nothing to offer.

Heat spread on Ginny's cheeks. "I wasn't trying to—"

"I'm not a fool," Narcissa cut in, though her tone was almost amused. "I know you want to escape. We all do."

Ginny bit her lip. Had she been that obvious?

Narcissa pushed the golden-blonde strands of hair from her face. "Make no mistake, this manor is your prison now as much as it is mine. The Dark Lord will never let you go. You had best get used to it and spare yourself the energy."

The older woman left on the words, not bothering to wait for a response. Ginny clenched her hands into fists. Maybe Narcissa had been able to accept her imprisonment, but Ginny could not. Besides, she had read the diary; she had no doubt that the blonde would have taken action long ago had she not been afraid it would put Malfoy at risk. Narcissa was just a hypocrite in telling Ginny to be resigned, or maybe it was four years of being stuck in this place that had quenched whatever fire had caused the woman to betray the Dark Lord. Either way, they were two women from a different mould.

Ginny couldn't give up. She just couldn't.

So she continued her search, every thought bent on finding the "backdoor" that would allow her to escape. She entered a long corridor lined with statues and busts set atop pillars. Her foot caught on a crease in the thick carpet. She lost her balance and would have fallen had she not grabbed onto the bust of a woman whose face was shrouded in a stone veil. Ginny's fingers dug into the stone. The statue's head swivelled so that it was facing the opposite direction. She yelped and let go, even as the wall behind the bust opened up to reveal a dark passageway.

"Huh," Ginny murmured. "Maybe my luck isn't so bad after all."

She almost felt like laughing. Instead, she cast a quick glance around to make sure no one had seen her before she walked through the opening. The wall slid shut behind her with a groan, sealing her within the darkness. Any urge to laugh vanished in an instant. Without a wand, she couldn't create light for herself. Scrabbling around at the sealed stone didn't help either. There were no grooves, nothing onto which her fingers could grab hold. She was trapped.

Ginny swore under her breath. It seemed that forward was the only option. She placed her hand against the wall and began slowly making her way through the passage. It was a good thing she wasn't scared of dark, confined spaces. The passage was narrow and offered no light. She couldn't even see the outline of her hand. All she could hear was her breathing and the uneven, shuffling-like sound of her footsteps. The air also tasted a bit stale. It was obvious that no one had used the passage in a long time.

Well, no matter. This was what she had been hoping for when she had started her exploration of the manor. Plus, the passage had to lead somewhere. Even if it did feel like it was taking forever. Even if she did trip several times, scraping her elbows and knees against the hard stone. Damn, this would have been so much easier if she'd just had a wand. If only that bastard hadn't broken it.

Actually, a lot of things would be different if it weren't for Malfoy.

A slither of light gleamed before her. Ginny realised she must be nearing the exit and quickened her pace. Disappointment hit her when she came up against a dead end; however, the moment her fingers made contact with the stone, the wall slid open. Ginny blinked at the sight that greeted her on the other side. It was someone's bedroom.

Frowning, she stepped out from the passage and glanced around the room. The wall slid shut behind her, but she was too busy examining her surroundings to care. An ornate chandelier made of silvery orbs hung from the ceiling. There was a shelf filled with books that looked as if they'd been organised right down to category, size and colour. Someone was a neat freak. A large wooden dresser lined the wall, and a study desk and chair had been tucked into the corner. What drew her gaze, however, was the four-poster bed. Or, rather, the person lying on top of the grey coverlet. Only one person had such silvery-blond hair.

Ginny's stomach gave an odd sort of flop. So much for luck. It just figured that she would stumble her way into Draco Malfoy's bedroom. Not that the blond showed any signs of acknowledging her presence. He lay on his side, eyes closed, and his hair fanning the pillow around him like a halo. A few strands caressed his cheek. It was an unexpected image. There was a youthful sort of softness about his expression; it reminded her of the boy Narcissa had drawn in her sketches. Even his posture was unguarded. One of his hands was curled under his chin as if in supplication while the other lay palm up on the bed. His robe was undone but had not been removed. Judging from the fact that the curtains were still open, it seemed that Malfoy had been too exhausted to do more than collapse on his bed the previous night and fall asleep.

A few creases formed on her brow. She didn't know why she moved closer. Maybe she just wanted to make sense of the opposing images he presented: the hardened Death Eater who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted or the man she saw before her now: young, vulnerable. He was like two puzzle pieces that shouldn't fit together yet somehow did. It bothered her. Everything about him bothered her.

"I don't understand you," she murmured.

She could even admit that she was worried about him. Just a little. It was hard to forget the lost look she had seen on his face after he'd released all that uncontrolled magic; hard to forget how Bellatrix had knocked him out and taken him away without sparing her a glance, or the tenseness Narcissa had displayed when Ginny had questioned the woman about Malfoy's wellbeing.

Something was wrong. Something no one wanted to admit. Even Lara had come to check on the blond after their first night at the manor. It was frustrating. Ginny wanted to hate Malfoy. She wanted to hate him _so damn much_. He didn't deserve a shred of her concern, but somehow he had managed to drag it out of her anyway. Unwillingly. Even a little bitterly. This bastard of a man who had killed her brother. This bastard who had kidnapped her and broken her wand.

This bastard who could be so cruel yet so achingly human.

Ginny brushed the silvery-blond strands from his cheek. His hair was just as soft as she remembered, and his skin felt warm under her fingertips. Damn him. He made her feel like a moth dancing around a flame, wanting to touch. Malfoy's eyelashes fluttered. A second later a hand latched around her wrist and she was yanked forward. She let out a breath, even as her back hit the bed. Malfoy straddled her, pushing her down into the mattress with his weight.

"You—" he growled, and then he broke off.

It was like watching awareness return to a sleep-fogged brain. His eyes widened, taking in her face, her position underneath him, the intimate way their bodies were pressed together. She swallowed and met his gaze. A part of her knew that she should be trying to push him off, but it was like she had forgotten how to move. Maybe he had too. Blood pounded in her ears. His hair tickled her cheek, and she could feel his breath caressing her lips. They were very close. Too close.

"Weasley?"

His voice sounded odd. Confused yet also something else. Something that made her pulse quicken.

"I—" She licked her lips, trying to moisten the sudden dryness.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Her eyes narrowed. Whatever mood had been stirring between them stuttered with the jarring effect of nails on a chalkboard. She did not appreciate his accusation that she'd purposely come into his room.

"Don't flatter yourself," she said, though her cheeks still heated. Damn her unruly blood. "I didn't know this was your room."

Malfoy raised his eyebrow. "Oh, so it was just an accident that you found yourself near my bed and touching me?" His voice edged with a tone that might have been amusement, but there was too much suspicion. "You know, only stalkers behave that way."

Her blush darkened. "It wasn't like that!"

"Really?"

His scepticism was obvious. She bit her lip in frustration.

"What about you?" she retorted. "You're the one holding me down on your bed!"

Malfoy tightened his grip on her wrists. "I don't take kindly to little snoops who come into my room while I'm sleeping."

Ginny ignored the flutters in her stomach. The fact she was turned on at all by their current position was irritating. It was a reminder of how they had tussled with each other for dominance all those nights ago: kissing, touching, trying to make the other beg first. She could make him beg now if she wanted. It was a taunting whisper in her mind.

"Get off," she said, averting her face. Looking at him was dangerous.

Malfoy did as asked. She told herself that she did not miss the warmth of his body.

"How did you get in here anyway?" he asked, getting to his feet. A crease furrowed his brow. "I know I locked the door."

Ginny shifted into a sitting position and gestured at the wall. There was no point lying.

His eyes widened and he threw her a look she did not understand: narrowed, searching, maybe even a little confused. "You used the Space Between?" he demanded.

She blinked. "Uh, I guess? I don't know. I just found a passage and followed it here."

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair. He muttered something under his breath that was too low to hear. Her eyes narrowed and she tapped her finger against her leg.

"Hey," she said, jutting her chin. "What's the big idea with this Space Between thing?"

This time his expression was full of derision. "You're a pureblood witch and you don't even know about that?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Obviously not."

He sighed and explained that the Space Between was essentially a magic passageway that was used to create shortcuts. In the case of Malfoy Manor, it would take her anywhere within the building as long as the room she desired had been linked to the spell. The magic was pretty complicated though; it functioned on thoughts rather than words—a bit like the Room of Requirement in that sense. More often than not, people got lost inside the Space. That's why the practice had become unpopular. Most people preferred to just Apparate or use the Floo.

"You mean I could have got trapped in that passage?" Ginny exclaimed, even as the colour drained from her cheeks.

Malfoy gave her another of those odd looks. "You shouldn't have been able to get inside the Space Between at all."

"Why?"

"It can only be accessed by magic." He folded his arms across his chest. "You shouldn't be able to perform any."

Right. Because she didn't have a wand.

Malfoy glanced back at the wall. "I guess the Dark Lord was right about you," he murmured more to himself.

Ginny seized on the comment. "What about Voldemort?"

"I told you not to say his na—"

"I don't care about that!" she snapped. Her whole body inclined towards him as she stared intently into his eyes. "What did Voldemort say?"

Malfoy's jaw twitched. He leaned down and planted his hands on either side of her on the bed, forcing her to edge back to protect her own personal space. "Don't get cocky with me, Weasley," he said in a voice of steel. "I don't have to answer your questions—especially not when you take that demanding little tone with me."

"Oh, come on," she said in exasperation. "We both got used by Voldemort for his plan, didn't we? I just want to know why I got dragged into this mess." Her eyes met his. "Don't tell me you aren't the same."

He stared at her for a long moment—a calculating glance that weighed whether she was worth his honesty. She tried hard not to blink. It felt like he would choose to be silent if she did.

"I'm sure you've already gathered the truth," he said with a shrug, pulling away from her. "You're a powerful witch. Why else would the Dark Lord have wanted to use you for the ritual?"

Ginny's lips pursed. "That can't be all he said."

"Be satisfied with that," Malfoy said bluntly. He averted his face, but not before she caught the bitter gleam in his eyes. "At least your magic isn't a curse."

All the breath got caught in her throat. There he went with that vulnerability again.

"Malfoy," she said before she could stop herself, "is there—is there something wrong with your magic?"

He stilled. "What?"

"It's just you went into that weird trance yesterday, and your aunt and mum seemed kind of—"

Malfoy balled his hands into fists. "Mind your own business, Weasley."

"But—"

"What's there to say" His gazed locked with hers. "My so-called ancient magic was given to me through a cursed stone. There's nothing normal about it." He laughed, though there was no amusement in the sound. "I don't even know if I'm fully human now."

Prickles crept down her spine. "What do you mean?"

He gave a helpless sort of shrug. "Forget it. I don't even know why I'm talking to you about this."

Ginny was on her feet before she realised what she was doing. Her fingers brushed his wrist, tugging him back to face her. "Hey," she said in a low voice. "If there's something bothering you then—"

"Then what?" he cut in. "You want to have a heart-to-heart with me?" His eyes narrowed and his voice took on a nasty tone. "I thought I'm just a murdering, Death Eater bastard to you."

She flinched as if struck. His words— _her_ words—were a harsh reminder of how she should be treating him. Certainly not showing him sympathy. Certainly not trying to reassure him as she was now.

Malfoy made a scornful sound and shrugged his wrist out of her grip. He brought his wand out from his robe and flicked it at the door, using a nonverbal spell to unlock and open it. Then he just raised his eyebrow at her in a silent command for her to get out. Maybe it was even a challenge for her to prove him wrong; to prove that she hadn't been throwing false sympathy and kinship his way.

Ginny lowered her gaze. "I really do hate you." she admitted. "You killed my brother. That isn't something I can just forget."

He said nothing. Perhaps he had heard the unspoken "but" that followed her words. She let out a breath.

"I seem to be constantly telling myself that I shouldn't care about what happens to you, but—" she shrugged "—I guess I can't ignore you either. We both got forced into this because of Voldemort, and I—" She shook her head. "I don't know. I guess I just don't want to care but I do. Make of that what you will."

Malfoy scrunched his nose. It was an oddly cute gesture. "That doesn't make sense."

"Yeah, well you don't make any sense to me either," she retorted, folding her arms across her chest.

He didn't say anything, and maybe that was for the best. There was something about their interaction that lacked venom: a fragile sort of bonding, like gossamer threads. She wasn't sure if they should be allowed to connect—not even on this level. In the end, she still hated him. In the end, he was still a Death Eater.

Ginny cleared her throat. "Well, I guess I'll leave you to it."

He nodded in acknowledgement, though he did tell her not to use the Space Between again. "The magic is too volatile to use without a wand," he warned. "You're lucky you ended up here and not lost."

She had to fight the blush that threatened to spill over her cheeks. From what he had said earlier, the only reason she had ended up in his room was because she had been thinking of him while walking in the passage. Granted, they had not been very pleasant thoughts, but he didn't know that.

"Look," Ginny said a bit irritably, "I don't even know how I used it in the first place. I just tripped and there was an opening in the wall."

"Then don't enter it if it happens again."

She pursed her lips. "You're kidding."

Her goal was still to find the "backdoor" that would let her escape from the manor. She couldn't just walk away from hidden passageways.

Malfoy seemed to perceive her thoughts, because his eyes hardened and he told her that trying to escape was pointless. The manor had been changed into a prison. Nothing was getting out or in that didn't pass the Dark Lord's approval. She had better just resign herself and get comfortable.

"You sound like your mother," Ginny said without thinking.

He stiffened and drew back from the conversation like a hermit crab retreating into a shell. She wondered if she should apologise for her tactlessness—she knew his mother was a taboo subject—but she couldn't bring herself to do that. Instead, she told him that he was an idiot if he thought she was ever going to give up. No matter who kept her prisoner, no matter what kind of prison she was kept in, she would always try to escape.

"Giving up means I've accepted that Voldemort has won." She shook her head. "I can't do that."

"The Dark Lord has won," Malfoy said flatly. "He won four years ago when Potter got hit with that curse. You and those who resist him are all just fooling yourselves in thinking that you can change anything now. The Dark Lord's power and influence grows every day. No one can stop him." He held her gaze. "It would be better if you all just surrendered."

She sucked in a breath. Just like that the gossamer threads between them snapped. As she had thought, Malfoy would always be a Death Eater first. Perhaps it was true he wasn't like his aunt—not in the way she had accused yesterday. Malfoy wasn't sadistic; he was just pitiful. A pitiful man trapped in a self-destructive spiral where compassion always lost to cruelty. It was obvious he didn't want to follow Voldemort, but he did it anyway. That was why she hated him. Because even a pitiful man could do irreparable damage if his will was strong enough. It was the reason she was here. It was the reason Ron was dead.

It was the reason she knew she shouldn't have ever let herself care.

"Is that really what you think?" she demanded.

Malfoy rolled his shoulder, as if trying to shake off her glare. Maybe he could feel how much she despised him in that moment. "It's just a fact," he responded. "If you stopped being blinded by your own stubbornness, you would see it too."

Ginny closed the distance between them, getting right up in his face. "You're wrong."

He didn't flinch from her. Instead, he just looked tired. Tired and resigned. It was a reminder of the day he had broken her wand. Even now she could hear his words; hear the awful deadness in his voice as he painted his feelings for her in an image devoid of all hope.

" _I'm tired of this war, Weasley. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of watching people die. I'm so damn tired of it all. That's why I'll do whatever it takes. I'll kill, I'll torture—I'll destroy every bit of resistance that is left. I'll even break you if that means getting the information I need to end this war."_

Ginny gritted her teeth. "You're wrong, Malfoy," she repeated, though it was more of a hiss. "Maybe when you finally open your eyes and see what you've been doing, you'll understand why I keep fighting. You'll realise how wrong you were when you stopped listening to your conscience."

He raised his eyebrow. "Big words coming from someone who chose to cooperate with the Dark Lord and complete the ritual with me."

"That was different."

"Was it?" His mouth twisted, though the expression was hardly a smile. "Seems to me like you're just a hypocrite."

She narrowed her eyes. "I won't apologise for my choice. I did what was necessary so I could have a better chance to escape and fight."

"Hate to break it to you, Weasley, but that's just a nice excuse to cover the fact you were too scared to go against the Dark Lord."

"Well, what about you?" she retorted. "What's your excuse for following Voldemort? It's obvious you're not loyal to him."

All the light seemed to vanish from Malfoy's eyes, turning them to emotionless stone. "Why would I need one? The Dark Lord is powerful and will eventually crush all opposition to his dominion. I'd be an idiot to go against him."

"Even if he's just using you?"

"Even if he's just using me," Malfoy repeated in hard voice. "I don't have a death wish, and all I care about is stopping this war. That's enough for me."

She blew her cheeks out in frustration. He was so infuriating. She wanted to hit him; to make him see that his logic was so wrong and twisted, because she knew—she absolutely _knew—_ that he was not being honest. But then maybe that was just her trying to soften his ugliness. Maybe she just wanted to believe that the unrelenting resolve he had displayed when he'd tortured her and broken her wand wasn't the real Malfoy.

Maybe she just wanted to justify the sympathy and attraction she felt for him.

Ginny made an irritated sound and spun on her heel, marching for the open door. Malfoy didn't stop her. For some reason, this also grated on her nerves.

 **oOo**

A light breeze ruffled Draco's hair. He leant on the balcony, watching one of the peacocks strut near the fountain below. His hands were trembling faintly. He gripped the stone in an effort to halt the motion.

"You didn't join us for breakfast."

Draco flinched but didn't turn at the sound of his aunt's voice.

"I didn't realise my nephew was still so pathetic," she observed. "You're like a moody teenager."

"What can I say?" he said dryly. "Being in this place with all of you kills my appetite."

Bellatrix laughed. "Not enjoying your punishment?"

He said nothing.

"I wonder what hurts more," she mused. "The fact that your mother is the reason you cut yourself off from the Malfoy line or if you've just realised that, even if the war ends, nothing is going to change. She'll still be a traitor, and you'll still be no better than an enchantment to be used."

Draco tightened his grip on the balcony. He felt the dark power well within him, brushing against his walls, whispering for him to let it escape. There was a cracking sound. He pulled his hands away to see the stone had chipped in webs of damage where he had been gripping.

"Oops," Bellatrix said with careless amusement. "Seems I made you lose control again. You'd best get a hold of that, Nephew."

His eyes narrowed. For some reason he got the sense she was purposely trying to rile him up. What he didn't understand was why.

"You know something about the Nemesis Stone's magic, don't you?" he questioned.

Bellatrix smiled and patted him on the cheek. "Silly boy. I'm just here to observe." Her touch shifted to a caress, sending shivers down his spine. "I find your magic fascinating."

Draco moved away from her hand. This only amused his aunt more. She reminded him to make sure he ate something and then left him alone on the balcony. Draco let out a breath and stared down at his hands; stared at the damaged part of the stone where he had touched. Even now, he could feel the dark power welling within him, desperate to be released. Not natural. Not even something he could control.

He didn't understand. He was—he was scared?

Draco laughed bitterly. "You want to know what hurts the most, Aunt?"

It was that he'd never had a chance. Not really. Other people—people like Weasley—had the luxury of choosing how they would live; their parents even helped to make that happen. However, right from the beginning there had only been one path for him. It was a bleak and ugly road, but it was the one he walked: bitterly, reluctantly, but determined to see it through to the end all the same.

The Dark Lord had shaped his entire life with a stone. That was his sad story: the proud Draco Malfoy who had come from one of the noblest families had been stripped off everything and reduced to a pawn.

Draco's mouth curved into an unamused smile. He could still feel the dark power welling inside him.

 **oOo**

Sunlight streamed in through the windows. The room was large and might have been nice had it not been decorated with a military-like efficiency: basic furniture, nothing personal. Lara had never cared to make this place her home. It was just a temporary space she lived in while serving the Dark Lord. Normally, she preferred to use the room just to sleep. Her little problem was becoming quite the inconvenience though.

Lara hunched over the desk and rubbed her temples. The headache was getting worse; it pulsed with the ugliness of a soon-to-be migraine. She picked through the lines that coloured her mind, trying to pinpoint the spark of wrongness that made everything fuzzy and hurt. Had her enemies caught onto her? Had something happened to the girl?

She brushed the source of the waves: a juddering earthquake spiking with dark energy. A sigh escaped her lips. "Damn it, Draco," she muttered. "At this rate you really will get yourself killed."

It was too soon. Much, much too soon. That idiot needed to pull himself together or else all of her efforts would have been for nothing.

Lara straightened with a grim expression. She couldn't go against the Dark Lord's orders and visit the manor herself. Not when he was acting suspicious of her again. She couldn't rely on Bellatrix either; that woman didn't seem like she wanted to lift a finger to help—perhaps was even happy to play executioner. Still, there was someone else at the manor. Someone who would stop at nothing to keep Draco safe.

The brunette removed a piece of parchment from the drawer, dipped her quill in the inkpot, and then began to write. Even this simple act could be considered a betrayal—she knew that she was not supposed to communicate with the traitor—but then Lara had never cared about following orders to a T. She cared about results.

"I'm counting on you, Narcissa," she murmured, sealing the letter in an envelope and walking to the fireplace.

Lara was not about to let her plans full apart just yet.

* * *

Phew. This chapter took forever to write. Hoping the next one will come more smoothly.

Thanks again to everyone who reviewed!


	8. On that Day

**On that Day**

It was raining. Draco watched the drops splatter against the windowpane, breaking the silence in a monotonous tap, tap, tap. He sighed and glanced back at the desk buried under scrolls and books. Once again, he had shut himself in the library in the hopes of finding new information about his magic. He was not a fool; he knew that there was something wrong with him. It was a whisper in every worried glance his mother threw his way; in the equally disturbing, and increasing, attentions of his aunt. Even Weasley's attitude had shifted subtly towards him; she was still antagonistic a lot of the time, but sometimes he'd catch glimpses of a different expression on her face. Almost pitying. Draco didn't like that. He didn't want to be pitied.

Even as a pawn he still had his pride.

He brushed his hand against his chest. The dark mass of energy that had been so present a few days ago seemed to have settled. He understood that it was linked to his emotions. When he got upset, the power would spike. In that sense it was a lot like a release of uncontrolled magic, except the power itself felt wrong. Too foreign. It was like there was something seeping out of his core of magic, tainting his body. He knew it was the Nemesis Stone's fault. What he didn't understand was what it would do to him in the long run.

" _You know something about the Nemesis Stone's magic, don't you?"_

" _Silly boy. I'm just here to observe … I find your magic fascinating."_

Draco exhaled. If his aunt wasn't so unpredictable, he might have tried to get more information out of her. It was obvious she knew something. However, just the thought of speaking to her about this—especially since it meant giving her the tiny elevation of recognising that she had something he needed—repulsed him. She was taunting him on purpose. Maybe she wanted him to approach her. Maybe she wanted him to take on that dependent role so she could manipulate him easier. He didn't know; he just knew that he didn't trust her.

Bellatrix made him uneasy. She had always made him uneasy.

He frowned and rubbed his temples. Thinking about this was giving him a headache. What he really needed was a distraction. Too bad there was nothing but bad memories and people he did not want to talk to in the manor. It almost made him miss being on the frontlines. Almost. Killing, torturing, subduing—all those things had been awful, but at least he'd been able to focus on something else. At least he'd been able to forget.

"Enough," he muttered.

Thinking like this was pathetic. He stood up from the desk and made his way to the shelves where the books on spells and incantations were kept. If he couldn't figure out a way to fix his problem, he'd just use the time to brush up on his magic. It was better than sitting around feeling sorry for himself. He was just selecting a book on advanced Transfiguration when the door to the library opened. Draco glanced over his shoulder to see Weasley standing on the threshold. His brow furrowed. What did she want?

"Oh," she said, catching sight of him. "I didn't realise you were here."

Draco didn't bother to acknowledge her with an answer. He went back to his book, expecting her to leave. She didn't. His shoulders tensed as he heard her footsteps draw closer.

"Have you found anything?" she asked.

Draco closed the book with a snap. "What?" he said with a bit more bite than necessary.

The last time they had spoken properly was when she'd turned up in his bedroom. It wasn't like they had parted on the best of terms either. He had no desire to listen to her self-righteous speeches again.

"You were researching about ancient magic and the ritual, right?" Weasley said, leaning against the bookshelf and folding her arms across her chest. "I just wondered if you had found anything."

He shoved the book into the empty slot. "Why would I tell you?"

"Aren't we the same?"

His eyes flickered to hers. She was often saying things like that: how they were in the same boat; how they were both victims to the Dark Lord's schemes.

"Research it yourself if you care so much," he muttered, walking past her.

"Wait."

Her fingers closed around his wrist. Draco bit back a sigh.

"What?" he said shortly.

Weasley was quiet. That annoyed him. She was always doing what she wanted: touching him, demanding answers from him, trying to dig her way into his life as if she had any right.

"I know we don't exactly see eye to eye," she began, as if choosing her words carefully, "but the fact remains that we _are_ the same. Neither of us asked to be part of the ritual. I know you have questions just like I do. Maybe we can—"

"You have got to be kidding," Draco muttered. He shook his wrist free of her grip and turned to face her. "Are you even listening to yourself?"

She raised her chin. "I'm just being pragmatic. If we work together—"

"What makes you think I'd do anything with you?"

"Why not?" She stepped forward, meeting his gaze. "We're both stuck in this place. I'm not stupid; I know you're just as much a prisoner here as I am." A hint of a smirk curved her lips. "You know, for being Voldemort's follower, he really doesn't treat you well."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Don't talk about things you don't understand."

"I'm just saying," she said with a shrug. "You can't leave. I can't leave. You want to know more about your ancient magic; I want to know more about mine. Doesn't it make sense to just research together?"

He shook his head, though it was more from disbelief than as an intended response. "Is there something wrong with your head? You do remember who I am, right?"

"Yes, Malfoy, I'm well aware that you're a Death Eater."

"Then why—"

"Because I need to know!" she exclaimed. "I hate the fact I feel like I'm walking blind. I want to know more about my magic; I want to know why it had to be me!" She exhaled and lowered her gaze. "Look, I know it's weird to come to you like this, but I don't even know where to begin. You've already been researching and seem to know a little, so—"

"So you just want to use me, is that it?"

She blinked. "What? No, I—"

Draco laughed, though there was no amusement in the sound. "You really are shameless."

Weasley narrowed her eyes. "Stop twisting my words."

"It's not twisting words when it's the truth. We both know you hate me. The only reason you're suggesting this is because you think I can help you learn more about your magic."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he turned away from her.

"Sorry, but I'm not interested," he said flatly. "Believe it or not, I don't like being used."

He had only taken a few steps when she let out a scoffing noise. "This from the guy who said he didn't care he was being used by Voldemort."

Draco gritted his teeth. This girl was really getting on his nerves.

"That's different," he informed her.

"Is it?"

He glanced back at her. She stood with her arms folded and an annoyingly smug smile on her lips. Merlin, he wanted to hex her.

"I saw how you reacted when you found out about the ritual performed on you as a baby," she observed. "You were angry. You were upset." Her eyebrow rose a fraction. "Are you telling me that you're really satisfied with how things are? You know that Voldemort is just using you. He even separated you from your mother for four years, and—"

"What do you know about that?" Draco hissed, swiftly closing the distance between them. "There's no way Mother would have told you."

Weasley's eyes widened. "I just—"

He pressed his hands against the shelf behind her, trapping her within the cage of his arms. "You just what?"

She raised her chin. "Don't you think you're being a little over the top?"

Draco's expression remained cold. "This isn't a joking matter, Weasley. What do you know?"

She glanced to the side. "Nothing, really."

"I don't believe you."

"It's true," she insisted. "I've just pieced stuff together, that's all. I mean, it's no secret that your mum is under some kind of house arrest, and it was pretty obvious the first night we arrived that you hadn't seen each other in a while, so—"

"That doesn't explain how you knew I haven't been allowed to see her for four years."

She blinked. "Oh, it really was four years? No wonder she wrote that stuff."

"Wrote?" Draco narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Weasley's expression shifted to one of alarm, as if she'd just realised her slip-up. He'd known the little sneak was hiding something from him. She chewed on her lip and shifted on her feet.

"Well, I, uh, might have found your mum's journal," she confessed.

For a moment all he could was stare. "You what?"

"It was in the garden. I didn't know what it was at first, but when I looked through it I realised—"

Draco gripped her shoulders. "What did you read?" he demanded. "What the hell do you know?"

Panic clawed at his chest. If his mother had been stupid enough to write the truth about four years ago then he really would be screwed. Weasley's eyes widened at his sudden intensity and she tried to twist out of his grip.

"Let me go," she ordered.

Draco didn't budge. "Tell me what you know," he gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Nothing, alright?" She glared up at him. "Your mum isn't much of a writer; she mostly drew pictures in it."

He tightened his grip. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Geez, calm down. All she wrote was that she missed you and hoped you would forgive her. Stuff like that."

Draco let out a shaky breath. His relief was so overwhelming that he almost staggered. He let his hands slip from her shoulders and stood back, putting some space between them. Weasley glowered at him.

"What's with you?" she demanded. "Grabbing me like that and getting all up in my face. I _told_ you I didn't know anything."

"Forget it," Draco muttered, turning away from her. "It's nothing."

"It obviously isn't nothing. Anytime someone mentions what happened four years ago you—"

He stiffened.

She pointed her finger at him. "See, you're doing it right now! You get all tense and—"

"Just forget it, Weasley."

She stepped towards him. "Malfoy, what really happened four years ago? I thought maybe you got separated from your mum because of some kind of punishment deal in exchange for her life, but then why all the secrecy? Just what exactly did your mum do that was so wrong? And why did Ron say all that stuff about—"

"Shut up!" He was pointing his wand at her before he even realised what he was doing. "This doesn't have anything to do with you, so just—"

"Well, well."

Draco tensed and glanced over his shoulder to see his aunt leaning against the door. He quickly lowered his wand, but not before her face split into a smile.

"What do we have here?" she mused, advancing into the room.

He gritted his teeth. "Nothing. It's nothing. Weasley and I just had a disagreement."

Bellatrix laughed. "You're getting worse, Nephew. Don't tell me you've let your emotions weaken your control this much? I almost despair as your Occlumency instructor."

He averted his face.

She pressed herself against his side, reaching up to trace her finger along his jaw. "Perhaps it's time to resume your lessons, hrm?"

A shudder passed through him. She was too close. "Thanks, but I'll pass," he muttered, stepping back to put more distance between them.

Bellatrix's smile widened. "Silly boy. I'm just trying to help."

He seriously doubted that, but he didn't vocalise the thought. Instead, he walked past her and muttered that he had things to do.

"What's the rush?" She placed her hand on his shoulder and guided him back to face Weasley. "This girl wishes to know what happened four years ago. It would be rude to deny her, don't you think? Ah, but you seem too upset to talk about it. Shall I tell her for you?"

Draco clenched his hands into fists. Damn his aunt and her incessant need to taunt him.

"You see, girl," Bellatrix continued, smiling at the redhead, "my foolish little sister decided to surrender herself to the Order. She didn't like the way things were going and hoped to strike up a deal to get Draco away from the Dark Lord." Her eyebrows rose a fraction. "I'm surprised you didn't hear about it. Weren't you Potter's girlfriend?"

Weasley shook her head. "I—I didn't know. No one ever said anything."

Bellatrix laughed. "I guess they didn't consider you important enough to be in the know. In any case, poor little Cissy miscalculated. She put all her hopes on Potter, but only a fool would think such a useless boy could stop the greatest dark wizard this world has known." Her eyes glinted. "In fact, it was Draco who captured Potter and brought him before the Dark Lord. Isn't that amusing? In the end, it was the son she wanted to free from the Dark Lord's service who ruined her plans."

Weasley let out an angry hiss and rounded on him. "What? It was you?"

Draco ignored the redhead. "Enough, Aunt," he said, freeing himself from her grip. "You've had your fun."

"Oh, but we're just getting to the best part." Bellatrix bared her teeth in a grin. "You see, after the defeat of Potter, Narcissa's new allies turned on her. Perhaps they thought she had surrendered herself on purpose in order to get closer to Potter; perhaps they just didn't trust a woman so closely connected to Death Eaters. Either way, by the time Draco got his hands on her she'd been abused and tortured for information. It seems they thought she knew how to break the curse that had been placed on Potter." Bellatrix let out a grating laugh. "As if my foolish little sister would know something like that."

Draco balled his hands into fists. "Stop," he said in a low voice.

Bellatrix ignored his request, though her lips upturned at the corners. "The Dark Lord is not a forgiving man. He found out what had happened and planned to execute Narcissa for betraying him, but Draco begged for her life to be spared." Her eyes flickered to his in a teasing smile. "Such a loyal son. Even after seeing what a traitor she had become, he still wanted to protect her."

Draco held his aunt's gaze, even as the dark taint inside him stirred into a writhing mass. Vicious. Wanting to break free. His aunt was picking at sores that should not be touched.

"Do you want to tell the blood-traitor what happened next?" Bellatrix asked in a taunting voice. "I've noticed she still calls you 'Malfoy'. Don't you think it's about time you correct her?"

Weasley's brow furrowed. "What is she talking about?"

Draco didn't respond. The memory was replaying in his mind: his mother battered and about to be executed; the suspicion that had been turned on him for not exposing her treachery straight away and daring to plead for her life; the ultimatum that had eventually been offered.

" _Prove your loyalty, Draco. Prove that you will do whatever your lord asks of you." A calculated pause. "Or is it that your family is worth more to you?"_

"Well, Draco?" Bellatrix prompted. "Do you want to do the honours or shall I?"

His eyes narrowed on his aunt. She had been there too that day. She had done nothing to help his mother; had even laughed when he had been forced to give up his birthright just so he could satisfy the Dark Lord and ensure that neither he nor his mother would be killed. It had been amusing to Bellatrix to watch him grovel and beg; to see him bequeath his privileges as the last living descendent of the Malfoy line to the man who had destroyed his family.

Everything was a game to his aunt. A cruel game where only people's pain could satisfy her.

Just like now.

Something snapped. It was like a scream ripping through his mind: the dark thing inside him broke free in a rush, lashing out in a wave of invisible power. Bellatrix flinched. Red lines appeared on her exposed skin: her hands, her face, all trickling blood. Even her robe was covered in tiny slits, as if she'd been slashed with a hundred razor blades. She stared at the blood on her hands and then threw her head back and laughed.

"Oh, well done, Nephew," she said, clapping in mock applause. "You actually managed to wound me. I didn't expect you'd be able to channel it into a direct attack."

Draco inhaled a ragged breath. Power thrummed through his body, through his very being, swallowing all rational thought. All that existed to him in that moment was hate. Hate for this woman. Hate for the Dark Lord. Hate for the choices he had been forced to make, along with all the ones that had been snatched away from him.

 _Destroy them_ , the magic whispered to him in a voice of darkened silk. _Let me free and we can destroy them all._

Bellatrix licked the blood from her fingers and then removed her wand from her robe. "Now, now, Nephew," she cooed, "I'm afraid that's as far as you go."

"Bella, no!"

The shout came from behind him. He didn't get a chance to turn. Red blurred his vision and then it was over. His mind and body shut down, taking his sense of awareness with them. The last thing he remembered was arms encircling him and the scent of gardenia.

 **oOo**

Draco woke up aware of two things: the first was that there were heavy cuffs on his wrists and ankles, chaining him down so that he could not move from his bed; the second was that his room smelt like a mixture of herbs he knew could be combined to make a sedative that calmed the body and mind. Someone was purposely trying to keep him subdued.

He raised his head to see his mother idly examining his bookshelf. She smiled when their gazes met, though her expression seemed strained.

"Oh, good, you're awake," she said, coming towards him.

His eyes narrowed. "Did you restrain me like this?"

"I didn't have a choice," she said calmly. "You lost control and attacked your aunt. We weren't sure if you'd be back to normal when you woke up from the stunning spell."

Draco's lip curled in an unamused smile. "You talk about me like I belong in St Mungo's ward for the insane."

Something flickered in her eyes. It happened too quickly for him to read the expression, but he still didn't like it. Maybe it was because a part of him knew that he should be locked away. His memories of what had happened earlier were hazy, but he still remembered the blood. He still remembered the hiss in his mind that had told him to let it all out; to become one with the dark thing that writhed within him and destroy everything.

It bothered him how seductive that whisper had been.

"Draco," Narcissa said, sitting down on the bed next to him, "answer me honestly. How good is your control right now?"

"I'm fine."

And it was true. All the writhing mass that had swelled within him had become nothing more than a faint presence in his body, like a star on the very outskirts of his universe. It was there, but it was harmless. At least for now.

"You must not lose control again," Narcissa said, gripping his arms with sudden earnestness. "Please, you have no idea how much danger you're in."

Draco shifted in unease. "What are you talking about?"

"Selwyn warned me that—"

"Lara got in contact with you?" He tried to sit up more in the bed, but of course the chains held him back. He made a frustrated sound. "Can't you do something about these?"

Narcissa ignored his request. "Listen, Draco. Selwyn warned that the unstable state of your emotions has caused the Nemesis Stone's magic to become volatile. The Dark Lord placed a seal on you when you were a baby to stop the magic from overwhelming your body; however, the seal is not infallible. In the end, all of that power is still a part of you, and the very nature of magic is that it does not like to be contained."

"You're saying that the seal might break unless I can get a better grip on my emotions?"

It was strange how calmly he could accept the knowledge. Then again, he'd already had his suspicions and was loaded up with a sedative.

Narcissa held his gaze. "You cannot afford to slip up, Draco. Selwyn warned me that Bella has been given special orders: if it looks like the seal might break or if you become too much of a liability, she has been given permission to kill you."

"What?"

His voice sounded strained even to his own ears. He tried his best to appear unaffected—and the sedative did help—but it was still a shock to hear that his aunt had permission to off him; especially since it seemed like she had been doing her best to make him lose control of his magic from the moment she had arrived at the manor.

Narcissa must have caught onto his thoughts. "Yes, I'm afraid we cannot trust Bella to stick to being an observer. My sister delights in chaos too much."

"I wonder if that's all it is," he murmured more to himself.

Bellatrix seemed more fascinated with his power than anything. Even the way she had taken to touching him was new. She'd never cared to be close to him in the past—not in such a creepy, almost sexual way—though it was true he'd always found her unnerving. Still, his mother was right that Bellatrix was the type who thrived on sadism and chaos. Maybe his aunt just got some kind of kick out of pushing him to the edge, knowing it'd give her a chance to kill him as she pleased. He wouldn't put it past her.

Draco let out a breath. "Will you let me out of these chains now?" he asked.

He could tell they had been enchanted to act as a magic suppressant. His magic was still there—much in the same way he could sense the taint of the Nemesis Stone still within him—but it was like invisible hands were holding the power in place. Such a dark artefact could only have been retrieved from the collection in the dungeons.

Narcissa smoothed the hair from his face. "Of course. It was just a precaution to keep your magic in check." She stood up. "Tinky!"

The house-elf appeared next to his mother. "Tinky is here to serve," the elf said, inclining her head. "What is Tinky's order?"

"Remove these chains from my son."

Tinky clicked her fingers. The chains were gone in an instant. "Is that all required of Tinky?"

"Yes," Narcissa said. "Continue your duties."

The elf bowed again and vanished. Draco frowned as he sat up on the bed, rubbing his wrists to ease the circulation.

"Does that elf actually follow your bidding?" he asked.

From what he understood, Tinky was now in service to the Dark Lord since all of the Malfoy inheritance and privileges had been passed onto the older man. Regardless of how the elf felt about the situation, she could not go against her master's orders.

Narcissa's lips quirked into a tiny smile. "The Dark Lord might be Tinky's master now, but she has not forgotten her original owners. So long as I do not give her a direct order that contradicts the tasks set for her by the Dark Lord, she will follow my bidding."

Somehow, Draco wasn't surprised to learn his mother had found a loophole to make up for her loss of authority. She was not a fool, even if his aunt claimed otherwise. Not that he wanted to think about how clever his mother could be when she chose. They wouldn't be in this mess if she had just left things well alone.

" _All she wrote was that she missed you and hoped you would forgive her. Stuff like that."_

He exhaled and lowered his gaze to his hands. "Look, you don't need to hover, Mother. I'm fine now. I've got my magic and my emotions under control." He gestured at the remnants of the herbs that had been burning on his desk. "Besides, this room is filled with the sedative you used on me."

Narcissa had the grace to look a bit apologetic. "It was just a precaution."

"So you keep saying," he muttered.

"I'm just worried about you. It's not like you to lose control of your emotions like this."

He might have felt a ripple of frustration if the sedative wasn't dulling his emotions so much. Any idiot could have understood why he was struggling to keep it together of late. His mother wasn't an idiot.

"Don't worry, Mother," he said flatly. "I won't lose control again. I don't want to give that satisfaction to Aunt Bellatrix."

She pursed her lips. "Just be careful. I know it's not the best method, but there are potions you can take to keep yourself calm, and it's easy enough to collect more herbs to—"

"You want to keep me drugged?" he demanded.

The thought sickened him a little. He had known his mother could be unscrupulous when she wanted, but this was different.

"I don't want you to be killed," she said, straightening her back. Typical reaction when she was on the defensive. "Of course I won't force you to take the potions or the sedatives."

"Except you already did."

Narcissa ignored this interjection. "You know the danger you are in, Draco. If you can't control your emotions, your magic will eventually overwhelm you. I'm simply suggesting a way to help prevent that."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said dryly.

She must have realised that she had upset him, because she didn't push the issue and instead said she would let him get some rest. Draco was glad when she left. He still couldn't believe that she had told him to rely on addictive potions and sedatives to get by. Did she think he was that weak?

 _Are you saying you're not?_

The snide thought flickered in his mind. He pushed it aside with only a little trouble. Maybe his track record wasn't the best, but he hadn't come this far to fall apart now. Even as a child he'd instinctively understood how to compartmentalise his emotions. He'd just have to be more vigilant. Either way, he refused to lose to his aunt.

 **oOo**

It was the faint, discordant sound of a door being clicked shut that alerted him first. Draco stirred in his bed, still half-asleep. The mattress dipped. His brain caught up to what was happening then and he fumbled for his wand, cursing his sluggish body thanks to the sedative that was still running through his system. Too slow. Slim fingers locked around his wrist, twisting his hand back against the pillow. Another hand pressed down on his chest, even as his intruder shifted to straddle him.

"Don't move," a familiar voice ordered. "I have some questions for you."

Draco sighed and muttered the incantation to turn on the lights. The chandelier flickered to life, illuminating the room in a soft glow. Weasley leaned over him. She was barefoot and dressed only in a nightgown, one shoulder bare where the fabric had slipped down. It was the kind of scene teenaged boys dreamed of—a thing right out of a sexual fantasy—but Draco was pretty sure Weasley had not come with any kinky intentions. Her eyes were narrowed and the grip on his wrist was almost painful.

"Decided to go beyond stalking, did you?" he observed.

The smoothness of his voice just barely hid his irritation. This girl was getting too bold.

"I thought about what your aunt said earlier," she said, ignoring his jibe. "About what happened four years ago. Some things didn't add up."

"Really?"

His tone was flat but dangerous. Almost a warning. If she had been smart, she would have stopped there. Then again, she had snuck into his room in the middle of the night. Clearly, the concept of being cautious wasn't something she understood.

Weasley's grip tightened. "I know that wasn't the full story. If it was, it wouldn't explain why Ron said you had double-crossed him or why you said he was the one who had crossed you." Her eyes sought his, earnest—even a little desperate. "What really happened, Malfoy? What—"

"What difference does it make?" he snapped. "You heard my aunt: those bastards you call allies turned on my mother. They humiliated and degraded her—tortured her in ways that sickened even me. If I'd had any doubts about where I stood, all of that ceased then." His eyes hardened. "That's the only truth that matters, Weasley. Your precious brother failed to keep my mother safe. He cared more about his idiotic suspicions than trying to protect her."

The colour drained from her face. "Ron wouldn't—"

"Wake up!" His expression twisted in contempt. "The perfect little world you've imagined where the good guys and bad guys can be separated into neat categories doesn't exist."

Her fingers released her wrist. "But—but that can't be right. There's no way Ron would have helped to torture Narcissa."

"Negligence is still a crime, Weasley. Even if your brother didn't torture her himself, he was the one who was supposed to keep her safe." Draco's voice turned bitter. "Potter was well aware that the others didn't trust her; that's why he left her in your brother's care. As usual, that oaf couldn't even follow those simple instructions."

She was quiet for a moment. "You speak as if you knew all about it."

Draco said nothing. Weasley wouldn't have come here if she hadn't put at least some of the pieces together.

"Ron would have never accused you of double-crossing him and Harry if he didn't think at one point you had switched sides," she said slowly. A breath escaped her lips. "That really is it, isn't it? You must have started working with them and—"

Draco took advantage of her lowered guard and rolled them both over so that he was the one pinning her down against the bed. Her eyes widened at the sudden turn around.

"Make no mistake, Weasley," he said in a grim voice. "I _am_ a Death Eater. I was then and I am now. I don't want to hear you suggesting otherwise."

Her breathing quickened. There was a tense moment where they just glared at each other: bodies close, blood pulsing. He was conscious of how warm and soft she felt underneath him, which really shouldn't have mattered in that moment, but his body reacted in stupid ways sometimes. Damn hormones.

Draco released her arms and got off her. "Get out," he said flatly.

Weasley lay still for a moment, as if trying to pull herself together. It might have flattered him that he'd had an effect on her as well, but in truth it just annoyed him. The attraction that simmered between them was just an inconvenience. Even her seduction tricks would never have worked on him if he'd been able to resist her better.

She sat up on the bed. He was conscious of every rustle of cloth, every shift of her limbs as she stood up and made her way to the door. She paused in the open doorway, meeting his eyes briefly. He kept his expression blank. Weasley frowned and turned on her heel, long plait of hair swinging like a fiery rope. He was relieved when the door closed behind her. That girl was getting under his skin too easily. He couldn't afford to let her get closer.

He knew what was at risk. He would not let himself be distracted anymore.


	9. Disturbance

Apologies for the wait! I didn't mean to leave this story for so long without an update. This chapter was just giving me a lot of trouble. Also, big thanks to everyone who reviewed! Your comments were very much appreciated.

* * *

 **Disturbance**

Ginny was restless. She sat slouched on one of the chairs in the library, ankles crossed and dangling over the armrest, and a book resting on her lap. She flipped through the pages half-heartedly. It had been her intention to research about her magic and the ritual, but all the technical jargon and thees and thous that littered the old spell books were really putting a damper on her motivation. It was like sitting through History of Magic at Hogwarts all over again. It was boring. It was frustrating. Maybe Hermione had enjoyed having her nose in a book and reading texts drier than withered parchment, but Ginny had always been more about practical spells and Quidditch.

She sighed and closed the book. Her mind felt scattered and was buzzing with too many thoughts. It had been ever since that night she had confronted Malfoy in his bedroom. For all the truth she had got from him and Bellatrix about what had happened four years ago, there were still many things that did not add up. Or maybe it was just that she didn't want them to add up: not about Ron, not about Narcissa, not even about Malfoy.

" _Make no mistake, Weasley. I_ am _a Death Eater. I was then and I am now. I don't want to hear you suggesting otherwise."_

Ginny's brow furrowed. She still remembered the way Malfoy had pinned her against his bed; remembered the grim warning in his eyes—the words that he had not spoken aloud but which had found utterance through his glare.

 _Just drop it. Stop trying to dig up what can't be changed._

Of course she knew that he was right. Curiosity aside, there was no point in digging further into his past. Even if Malfoy had acted as a double agent once—had even worked with Harry and Ron—there was no doubt that he now believed following Voldemort was his only option. Hell, he had told her as much several times. It was Ginny who didn't want to accept the truth.

A breath escaped her lips. She needed to stop thinking about Malfoy. Right now. Merlin knew there was more than enough going on to demand her attention. Her health, for one, had taken a nosedive over the past few days. She'd been experiencing nausea on and off and had struggled to keep food down, though she blamed that on stress. It wouldn't be the first time. Plus, she was aware that everything about her situation was getting to her of late. She was sick of being imprisoned, sick of being kept in the dark and having answers elude her. But, if she were to be honest, it was still Malfoy who plagued her thoughts the most. He had barely spoken to her since that night, let alone shown his face around the manor. Was he avoiding her? More importantly, why did she care?

She made a frustrated sound and shifted into a more comfortable position on the chair. Once again, she tried to direct her thoughts to something else—anything else—but her mind was stubborn. The bastard was like a thorn digging into her skin, burrowing deeper the more she tried to act like he didn't matter.

If only he hadn't shown her those moments of vulnerability.

If only the attraction that simmered between them could just disappear.

Ginny exhaled and closed her eyes. Her thoughts became more jumbled as she lay there, tangling and drifting in a haze. She was just beginning to doze when the door to the library opened. Frowning, she sat up to see who had entered. A jolt passed through her when she saw Malfoy. His hair was looking particularly tousled and he had forgone his robe for loose pants and a plain T-shirt—the same he had been wearing when she had gone to confront him in his room those few nights ago. This struck her as a little odd. Then she noticed the expression on his face and she stopped questioning why he appeared to be in his sleepwear. Instead, a much more pleasant sensation stirred in her stomach. That was the look he had given her before they'd had sex.

"Can I help you?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

Malfoy advanced towards her. "I knew I'd find you here."

"It's not like I have much of a choice since you didn't want to help me research."

"Never mind that," he muttered.

Her eyebrow rose higher as he continued to advance towards her. Clothing aside, he seemed different today—almost distracted. She stood up from the chair to balance their heights, at least a little. He was still taller, but it made her feel better not to have him looming over her. Or maybe she was just responding to the open desire in his eyes, the quickening pulse of her blood. Her body knew exactly what it wanted him to do; every inch of her tingled and fluttered and yearned, already half-inclining towards him.

"Why are you here, Malfoy?" she asked.

Their eyes met for a charged moment. He cupped her face with his hand, thumb grazing her lips. She inhaled a breath. The background seemed to fade around them, blurring with a surreal quality. It was as if all that existed in that moment were the two of them.

"I don't know," he murmured.

Then he kissed her. He kissed her like a man in a desert who had finally found water, wanting to fill himself with all she had. So intense, so passionate. Fire burned on her lips, through her blood. Her heart pounded and pounded and pounded. She never once considered pulling back, never once thought to make him stop. Instead, she clutched his shirt and tugged him closer, deepening the kiss until they were both making soft sounds of pleasure. It felt so good. One taste was definitely not enough; she felt like an addict who'd denied herself for too long. Being close to him was a rush of sensations and urges that could not be satisfied so easily. She wanted more. So much, much more.

Ginny backed him into the chair and crawled onto his lap. Malfoy was more than happy to oblige, gripping her thighs as he settled her into a better position. Her mouth curved into a smile when she felt the decided nudge from below; he was already hard for her. That was good. She pressed herself closer to him, even as their lips met again and again, parting and letting their tongues brush in drugging caresses. Damn him for being such a good kisser. This was why she could never resist.

His fingers found the zip on her dress and tugged it down. She helped him shimmy the fabric up over her head and then both set about removing his shirt, tossing the clothing aside with no care where it fell. Their kisses were getting more impatient now, reacting to the building need growing within. All that tension; all the pent up frustration and attraction that had created this itch that needed to be scratched. She was so close to getting fulfilment. That was why Ginny didn't hesitate to discard her bra. It would come off soon anyway. His eyes darkened and he kissed her neck, her collarbone, moving down to the soft swell of her breasts. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, biting her lip to stifle her moans.

"Miss."

Ginny's brow furrowed. Since when did Malfoy call her "Miss" or talk so squeakily?

"Miss." Something prodded her arm. "Miss should wake up now."

Ginny opened her eyes and yelped when she saw Tinky the house elf inches from her face. It took her a second to realise Malfoy was not in the library, her clothes were still very much on, and everything that she had just experienced had been a dream. Bloody hell, she'd just had a sex dream about Malfoy. Not that they'd even got to the sex part. She didn't know what was worse: having a dream like that about him or not even getting the satisfaction her body craved.

She sighed loudly and draped her arm over her eyes. "What?" she demanded.

Her body was still pulsing with desire. The last thing she felt like doing was talking to a house elf.

Tinky gave her a prim look. "Miss did not come to breakfast or lunch."

"I wasn't hungry."

"Tinky's orders are to make sure Miss eats properly and is kept in good health." The elf's tone got a reproving edge. "Miss should not skip meals."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Fine, I'll eat more. Happy?"

It wasn't like she was intending to starve herself. Food just made her feel sick of late and she'd been distracted with other things. Plus, she hated that she often had to eat with Bellatrix when she went to the dining room for meals. Narcissa wasn't too bad—a little aloof, but at least the blonde didn't make her skin crawl or her blood boil with supressed rage. Most meals, Ginny just resisted the urge to leap over the table and throttle the dark-haired witch.

"Miss should eat now," Tinky continued. "Tinky saved some food for Miss."

The elf clicked her fingers to make a plate with a sandwich and some fruit to appear. The plate was shoved into Ginny's hands and then the elf stared at her expectantly. Geez, this elf was pushy. Ginny huffed and started eating. Fortunately, the nausea stayed away this time. Soon, there were only a few crumbs left on the plate. Maybe she'd been hungrier than she'd realised.

"Do not forget next time," Tinky said sternly.

The elf and plate vanished with a pop. Ginny was used to Tinky now, so she didn't even blink at this abrupt departure; it would have been more surprising had the elf stuck around to chat. Still, now that food was in Ginny's belly and she was awake, the restless feeling was coming back. She got up to leave the library, but a sharp pain passed through her stomach. A hiss escaped her lips. She sat back in the chair and pressed her hand to the spreading pain, waiting for the discomfort to pass. It took a good ten or so seconds. Something wasn't right.

Ginny quickly left the library and made her way back to her room. Then she stripped off her dress and stood in front of the full-length mirror in only her underwear. Her body was bony and lacking in curves. Still, her thin frame only emphasised the bump now protruding from her stomach. Her eyes widened and she cursed under her breath. Just what the heck was going on? Sure, a person could get bloated after eating, but this was different.

She touched the bump and felt a thrum of energy coming from within, like magic sizzling through her fingertips. Bits and pieces started to come together then: the nausea around food, the way it felt like her stomach had been forced outwards, however small. Ginny half-stumbled as she moved back to sit on the edge of the bed. She placed her head in her hands, trying to slow her breathing to stop from hyperventilating. Damn. Damn, damn, damn, this was not happening. It seemed she really was pregnant, but the fact her stomach was this big already when it had only been ten days since she'd had sex was not normal.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

 **oOo**

Draco was surprised when Lara and Voldemort turned up at the manor and demanded to know where they could find Ginevra Weasley. He and his mother exchanged a glance, wondering what had happened to bring the Dark Lord here in person. The last time the three had been together had not been pleasant. Lara must have noticed their confusion, as she explained that she had sensed something was wrong with the child. Draco paled and found he couldn't make a sound. That child was also his child. Merlin, this was really happening. Weasley was pregnant and the child was growing. Somehow the situation seemed more real now.

Voldemort's cold eyes fixed on mother and son. "Bring Ginevra here," he ordered. "I do not wish to be kept waiting."

Draco pulled himself together and headed off to find the redhead, even as Narcissa did the same. Weasley was usually in the library these days, but a glance in the room revealed no sign of her—just a stack of books she must have been reading earlier. He frowned and ran a hand through his hair. She was always wandering around the manor; there was no saying where she could be, though at least with the rain pouring outside, he couldn't imagine she was anywhere on the grounds.

"You look flustered, Draco."

He flinched and turned to see Bellatrix standing near the door and watching him with a cat-like smile. A flash of irritation passed through him. He didn't like that she kept managing to sneak up on him; he'd have to be more on his guard.

"I'm looking for Weasley," he said, forcing his expression into a mask of calm. "Have you seen her?"

"The girl was heading to the East Wing last I saw." Bellatrix's smile widened. "She seemed upset."

Draco marched out of the library without a further word. If Weasley had headed for the East Wing, she had probably returned to her bedroom. He took the stairs two at a time, knowing he had to hurry. His mind was buzzing with what Lara had revealed. Not only had it been confirmed that Ginny was pregnant with his child, but there was something wrong with said child—something no one had expected, judging by the worried gleam he had caught in Lara's eyes. Did that mean something had happened to Weasley as well? He quickened his pace. Either way, the situation was not good. There was no saying how Voldemort would react if his plans were ruined.

The door to Weasley's room was shut but not locked. Draco pushed it open and glanced around the room, zoning in on the girl sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked sheet-white and her expression was blank, as if she was stuck in a daze. She was also only wearing her bra and knickers. Her dress lay discarded on the floor near the mirror. For some reason, he had expected to find her unconscious or hurt. The fact she was just sitting there like a useless lump of flesh irritated him.

Draco clenched his hands into fists. "Weasley."

She didn't stir. A second attempt to gain her attention also failed.

"Damn it, we don't have time for this," he muttered.

He moved towards her and gripped her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him.

"Snap out of it," he said roughly.

She blinked and met his gaze. "Oh, it's you."

"Obviously." He released her shoulders. "Anyway, get dressed. The Dark Lord is here with Lara and wants to see you."

Weasley made no effort to move and placed her hands over her stomach. That was when he noticed the small bump. It looked disturbingly unnatural against her thin frame.

"What the—" he breathed, forgetting himself for a moment as he brushed his fingers against the stretched skin. "What happened?"

"How the fuck should I know?"

He met her eyes, seeing the anger but also the fear. She was scared, and he supposed it was for good reason. Whatever was going on inside her body wasn't normal. Even he could feel the light pulse of magic emanating from the bump. Maybe that was why she looked at him so accusingly. He was the one with the unnatural magic—the one who might not even be fully human.

" _You are a living force of dark magic. Everything vulnerable to you will become corrupted. We can use that."_

Draco straightened and forced his emotions into lockdown. "Get up," he said shortly. "Lara needs to look at this. She'll be able to figure out what's happening."

"Lara?"

"Like I said, she's here with the Dark Lord. She believes that something may be wrong with—with the child. They're waiting for us in the parlour."

Weasley's brow furrowed, but she stood up all the same. And swayed. He grasped her by the waist to steady her. Their eyes met, and his heart gave a jolt when he realised how close they were. Close enough to count all the freckles that sprinkled her nose; close enough to feel her breath. His pulse quickened and he was conscious of her bare skin against his hands. Damn it, why wasn't she wearing more clothes? Dealing with her was hard enough when she was dressed.

Frustrated, Draco tore his hands away and averted his face. "Can you walk or not?" he asked roughly. "Or do I have to carry you now?"

"I'm fine," she snapped, looking half-confused, half-aggravated by his sudden show of temper. She stalked past him and grabbed her dress from the ground, then pulled it on to cover her body. "There, I'm ready."

Draco said nothing and continued to say nothing as they walked together to the parlour. He was unnerved by the stray thoughts that had infiltrated his mind. For all his attempts to stamp out the attraction he felt for her, it seemed she could still slip under his guard. The fact that it had happened when he knew he should have been focussing on getting her to Lara pissed him off even more. She was making him weak and distracted.

"Have you been avoiding me?" Weasley demanded suddenly.

He inhaled a breath. "What?"

"It's just I never see you these days."

"Don't flatter yourself," he muttered. "You're not that important to me."

Which was a half lie. The truth was he'd been so focussed on not letting the Nemesis Stone's magic get out of control again that he'd found it easier to be alone. His mother, his aunt, Weasley, just being in the manor itself—all unsettled him. He'd needed space to compartmentalise everything so he could stay detached and calm. At least that had been the idea. Plans often worked better in theory than in practice.

Weasley gave him a shrewd look and then shrugged. "Whatever you say."

It was obvious she did not believe him. Not that he cared to argue; that would just give her the satisfaction of knowing she had got under his skin. Fortunately, Weasley didn't push the issue and fell silent. He glanced at her profile and saw the worry lines etched into her face. Perhaps she had just been trying to distract herself by putting him on the spot like that; it was obvious she was still feeling distressed. Draco wondered why his conscience whispered he should be trying to make her feel better; it wasn't like they were friends or even allies. Plus, he'd never been one for doing the whole comforting thing. So he faced ahead and continued walking with her in silence.

"Took you long enough," Lara muttered as the two made their way into the parlour.

Draco said nothing. He noticed that his aunt was standing a little behind the Dark Lord and was watching them all with her dark, hooded eyes. His mother had not come back, though she might have also been told to leave. As a traitor, she no longer had the right to be kept in the know.

Voldemort turned to the brunette by his side. "Well, Lara?" he prompted. "What do you sense?"

Lara stood in front of Weasley. The older witch let out a deep breath and closed her eyes, reaching out her hand towards the redhead's stomach as if searching for an invisible object. Silence filled the room. No one moved. They just waited—waited and watched to see what would happen, though Weasley looked stiff and uncomfortable. A slight frown twisted Lara's mouth. Her hand began to tremble and a few beads of sweat gathered on her brow. She inhaled sharply. The trembling in her hand became so violent that her whole arm quivered at the energy he could tell she was using to project her power. It was like she was withering before their eyes. Draco could see the strength in her dying as her expression became more of a grimace, her breathing more erratic. He had not known that using her power took so much out of her.

Suddenly, Lara let out an agonised gasp and stumbled back. Her eyes snapped open to meet Weasley's gaze. The redhead remained frozen in place, pale and questioning. Then Lara shifted her gaze to him and all he could do was stare into her eyes—eyes that right now were mixed with fear, wonder and … triumph?

"What happened?" Voldemort demanded, stepping forward. "Did you find out what is wrong with the child?"

"The magic is too strong," Lara panted, holding a hand to her head. "The child is protected by a barrier that shuts out everything. It's almost as if her womb is using an advanced form of Occlumency against me."

"But did you manage to find out anything?" Voldemort persisted.

His tone left no doubt that there would be serious consequences if she hadn't.

Lara locked eyes with Weasley. The girl in question raised her chin a little higher, trying to stand tall. Lara closed the distance between them and, much to the surprise of everyone, used her wand to vanish the dress covering the girl's body. The redhead made a sound of protest, but Lara ignored this and touched the bump that was now visible for everyone to see.

"I knew it," Lara murmured.

The same mixture of emotions filled her eyes, though this time the gleam of triumph was impossible to miss. Draco's skin prickled. He didn't like that look.

Lara turned to face her master. "My lord, the child is in no danger, though I was right in thinking something had changed. If you look closely, you'll see that her stomach has already swollen to the size of where it should be in about three months."

"I don't understand," Weasley said, finally finding her voice. "Are you saying this thing inside me has developed to a three month-year-old baby in just over a week?

"That is exactly what I'm saying."

"But you say it is in no danger?" Voldemort questioned, watching the brunette closely.

"Logically, it should be," Lara admitted. "The magic the child possesses is too powerful for such an underdeveloped human. There's a reason why most wizards and witches only discover their magic as they get closer to the age of eleven. Even those who show signs of magical ability earlier only manage it in small bursts of uncontrolled magic."

"The mind and the body are too weak to control it," Draco murmured, catching on.

Lara nodded. "Exactly. Magic is supposed to mature with the human body. The nature of the ritual you performed with Ginevra, however, allowed an overwhelming amount of concentrated dark magic to be infused into her womb, and that only became stronger once it fused with the powerful magic she also possesses. No embryo could survive such an onslaught of power; it's just not developed mentally or physically enough to contain such a force."

"Then why is this thing growing inside me at such a rapid pace?" Weasley demanded. She sounded a little hysterical.

"Because the magic found a way to speed up the embryo's growth in order to compensate for the deficiency," Lara explained. Her gaze shifted to Draco. "It's no different than when your soul accepted the Nemesis Stone's magic. You could have easily been killed from the power infused into your body, but your soul embraced it as a part of you, allowing the magic to transform you into something more than just a normal wizard."

Draco paled at this casual reference to the magic placed on him, but his expression remained impassive. "So the child will keep growing at this pace?" he asked.

"Probably," Lara said with a shrug. "I'd give it maybe two months before the child will be ready to be born."

"Two months?" Weasley echoed, even as the colour drained from her cheeks. Her freckles had never stood out so much.

Voldemort's eyes lit up. "This is good news indeed. Two months instead of nine makes a vast difference. You've done well, Lara."

Lara bowed in acknowledgement. "Thank you, my lord."

Weasley did not seem as pleased; she looked like she'd been struck in the face and was struggling to keep her balance. Even Draco had to admit to feeling a bit spell-shocked. Two months until the child was born. That was barely anything. It was a reminder that, once the child was out of her, Voldemort would sacrifice the baby to perform the Hadem Rhi ritual. Weasley in all probability would be killed. Voldemort wasn't a fan of leaving loose ends.

"Two months," Weasley repeated.

She swayed a little. Draco noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye and, on reflex, caught her before she could hit the ground. Weasley had fainted. He frowned at the girl in his arms, even as a strange feeling twisted inside him. Guilt? Uncertainty? Concern? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that she looked surprisingly vulnerable in that moment.

"What happened to her?" Voldemort asked.

"Hyperventilating," Bellatrix observed. She stepped forward. "If that is all you need from her, my lord, perhaps Draco should take her back to her room so that she can regain her strength. It would be unfortunate if she fell ill."

"Very well," Voldemort said, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. "Just make sure she stays in full health. We can't afford to have any mishaps happen between now and the birth."

Bellatrix inclined her head. "Of course."

Voldemort nodded to Lara and then exited the parlour.

"Watch her close, Draco," Lara advised, soft enough so only he could hear. "More than you realise is depending on her safety now."

Draco barely had time to digest these parting words before the brunette left to follow Voldemort. Silence once more settled in the room. Draco glanced at his aunt, who raised her eyebrow in return.

"Well?" Bellatrix prompted. "Aren't you going to carry the little blood-traitor to her room so she can rest?"

His brow furrowed. "It's not like you to care about Weasley's wellbeing."

Bellatrix laughed. "I don't, but the Dark Lord needs her for the ritual so we should all try our best to keep her healthy, hrm?" She patted him on the cheek. "There's a good boy."

He watched his aunt leave and then glanced back at the unconscious girl he was holding. The creases on his brow deepened. He would never admit it aloud, but he felt a bit sick in that moment. More and more it was looking like the Nemesis Stone had changed him in some integral way. Now Weasley and the unborn child growing in her womb were suffering for it—both tainted because of his magic. The whole situation made him feel contaminated and like he was less than human.

Draco gritted his teeth. "Don't think about it," he muttered.

So he locked his fear and uncertainty away—deep down where it wouldn't disturb him. No matter what, he had to stay in control. No matter what, he could not give into the power that whispered to him in a voice of darkened silk. He would not let the magic change him any further.

Draco scooped the redhead up so he was carrying her in his arms and left the parlour. He was surprised she did not stir. Then again, there were dark shadows under her eyes, so he guessed she hadn't been getting much sleep. Perhaps her body just needed rest. He reached her room and placed her on the bed, then pulled the covers up over her body so she wouldn't get cold. He had an odd urge to smooth the red strands of hair from her face, but he resisted the impulse.

It unnerved him that he'd even had the urge.

 **oOo**

Something was ringing. Ginny opened her eyes with an effort. She felt groggy and like she'd been sleeping for years. It was a surprise to find herself back in her room all tucked up in bed. She didn't remember returning. The last thing she remembered was the conversation in the parlour. Ugh, she thought she might have fainted. How embarrassing.

The ringing stopped. That sounded like it had been the bell for dinner. Just the thought of food made her aware of the hunger clawing at her stomach. She guessed having a baby grow inside her at an unnatural pace would do that. Not that she wanted to think about the baby. She couldn't even view it as her own. The whole situation was too messed up.

Ginny got out of bed and rummaged in the wardrobe for new clothes. Lara had not bothered to return the dress she'd vanished earlier, which also pissed Ginny off. She felt like her body was no longer her own. No one had cared if she didn't want to expose herself or have some abnormal thing grow inside her like a parasite. Her opinion meant zilch in this place. It was more upsetting than she cared to admit. Even now the sting of tears prickled her eyes.

"Suck it up," she told herself.

There was no time for weakness. She now had two months instead of nine to get the hell out of this place. Self-pity and fear would cripple her; she needed to be strong. Even if it was hard. Even if all she wanted was to be held by someone and have them assure her it would all be okay.

Ginny bit her lip. She knew in that moment she would not be able to face the others for dinner. Not now when she was still trying to come to terms with everything. Her emotions were a mess and she would just end up being a mess. Breaking down in front of these people was something she could not tolerate.

Suddenly, there was a pop and Tinky appeared with a plate of food, which she placed on the nearby table with some cutlery and a cup of water. "Miss can have dinner in Miss's room tonight," the elf said by way of greeting. "Mistress Malfoy thought Miss would prefer to be alone and rest."

Ginny felt a well of gratitude. "Tell her I said thank you, please."

Tinky bowed and then hesitated. "If Miss needs anything else, Miss only has to ask. Tinky is here to serve."

The elf vanished before Ginny could respond. She wondered if the little creature was actually thawing to her, or maybe this was Narcissa's doing; the elf seemed attached to the older woman, even if Voldemort was now Tinky's magically bonded master. Either way, Ginny was grateful that Narcissa had thought of her. The last thing she had wanted was to sit with the others for dinner. Now she could be alone and cry as much as she wanted. Maybe purging all that weakness out of her would leave her strong enough to get through this ordeal.

Two months. This was not going to be easy.

 **oOo**

The next morning Ginny made her appearance at the breakfast table and was surprised to see Malfoy there as well. It had been a while since he had joined them. His gaze briefly flickered to her and then returned to his bowl of porridge. Bellatrix sat at the other end of the table, lounging in her chair as if she owned the manor, and reading what looked like a letter. She didn't even look up; both aunt and nephew could not have been more dismissive. Ginny frowned and slid into her seat.

"How was your sleep?" Narcissa asked.

Her voice was as smooth and indifferent as it had been when the two women had first breakfasted together. If Ginny was disappointed by this cold reception, she did not show it. In some ways she thought it was to be expected from Narcissa; the blonde very rarely showed her emotions. Still, the fact Narcissa had bothered to ask, let alone look out for her last night, did make Ginny relax a bit more.

"Fine, I guess," Ginny said.

Narcissa nodded and went back to eating her breakfast. Ginny stared at her own bowl of porridge and was relieved to feel no nausea. She guessed that was one perk to the rapid growth process; the worst of the morning sickness had passed. Maybe she'd be able to fit in a slice of toast as well. The jam looked good.

Ginny picked up her spoon and ate in silence. No one else seemed to be in the mood for talking, so breakfast was as awkward as usual. Malfoy did glance at her from time to time, but that was about it. She couldn't say she cared right then. Her stomach demanded sustenance, so she was quite happy to focus on her food.

Bellatrix crumpled the parchment in her hands, drawing everyone's attention to her. The woman looked annoyed.

"What's wrong?" Narcissa asked.

"The Dissenters are getting active again," Bellatrix explained. "One of our bases was raided last night, but no one was killed. It seems like they're looking for something."

Malfoy's brow creased. "Do you have any idea what?"

"A few." Her gaze settled on Ginny for a brief moment, then back to the crumpled parchment in his hands. "Anyway, it's nothing for you to worry about. You just stay put like a good boy until the Dark Lord decides your probation is over."

His mouth twisted, but he didn't say anything.

Bellatrix got to her feet and said she had things to do. Ginny frowned as she watched the older woman leave. Of course she had heard about the Dissenters: they were not as big a force as the Death Eaters, but the group was no less dangerous. Ruthless, power hungry, self-serving—the Dissenters were a mix of ex-Death Eaters and people who were neutral before the war but believed in blood purity. Still, the Order had been content to leave them alone for the most part since the Dissenters opposed Voldemort and often caused trouble for the Death Eaters. It was like the old saying: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. The Dissenters were not "good" people, but they were better than nothing. At the very least, they helped to keep the Death Eaters distracted from attacking the refugee camps.

Ginny idly stirred her porridge. "Maybe the Dissenters will raid the manor as well."

"Unlikely," Malfoy responded. "The wards are too powerful."

"No ward is unbreakable."

His eyes met hers. "I wouldn't get your hopes up if I were you. It would better if you never run into the Dissenters."

"Why?"

"Because of the child," Narcissa said, nodding in the direction of Ginny's stomach. "That child is pivotal to the Dark Lord's plans. Think about it."

Ginny paled. "Oh."

Of course the Dissenters would be interested if they knew what Voldemort was planning to do with her. Perhaps they'd even want to use the child to complete the Hadem Rhi ritual for themselves. Voldemort seemed to think the ritual could make him invincible; that was a tempting offer for the power hungry.

Ginny clenched into fists. She was so sick of being used or just seen like a pawn on a chessboard. Ever since she had been kidnapped, she had felt powerless to stop the things happening around her, but not anymore. She'd show them. There was no way she was going to give up or let them take the child for their sick plans. Even a pawn could take down the king if the game was played right.


	10. The New Prisoner

**The New Prisoner**

It had been two weeks since Ginny had discovered the truth about the child. Two, miserable weeks. She was still no closer to escaping the manor, and the sight of her rapidly growing stomach only reminded her of how little time she had left.

In her more desperate moments, she had considered enlisting Narcissa's help. The woman did know of a way to get out of the manor; the journal had proven it. But whenever Ginny opened her mouth to request the blonde's assistance, something whispered that it would be wiser for her to keep quiet. Narcissa was acting friendlier, but that did not mean the older woman would be willing to jeopardise her own and her son's life just so Ginny could escape from the manor. It was Malfoy that Narcissa loved, Malfoy that she would protect in the end.

So Ginny had kept her thoughts quiet and tried her best to come up with a plan. Every day, she searched the manor to find the "backdoor" that would give her freedom. Still, she knew that just getting out of the manor was only the first step. Every Death Eater in England would be hunting for her once she escaped. She would need to get somewhere safe fast, but after spending so long as a prisoner, she had no idea where the Order would now be stationed or even if anyone was still alive that could help her. Everything was resting on chance.

Ginny sighed and stared out the window. The sky was a dark grey, becoming almost black in the distance where a storm brewed. A deep growl of thunder rumbled. Rain started to fall from the thick shroud of clouds, slow at first, and then it was pelting down in heavy droplets so that all she could see was the dagger-like jets of water slicing through the air.

"Perfect," she muttered.

She had been hoping to go for a walk outside today—at least once she was allowed out of her room—but there was no way she was going to trek through that weather. Not that anyone would have let her anyway. Ginny was Voldemort's prized "vessel"; anything that could get her sick or put the baby in even the smallest amount of danger was prohibited.

Irritated, Ginny stood up and paced around the bedroom. Tinky had locked her inside earlier that morning. She'd been told she would be released once Bellatrix gave the order, but there was no saying when or even why she'd been denied even the small freedom of wandering the manor. It was frustrating. It made her restless and itch to lash out—to vent the primal rage that bubbled within her. She was so tired of being a prisoner.

She kicked at the wall and a spark of magic flowed through her. To her surprise, the stone parted to reveal a corridor.

"The Space Between," she murmured.

Malfoy had warned her against using it, but right now Ginny was feeling angry and reckless. She stepped into the narrow passage and let the wall close behind her. Darkness settled in like a suffocating mass, but that was fine. She remembered how to use the passages; she just needed to think of where she wanted to go. Avoiding a place that her captors frequented was a good start, but she needed to make sure it was connected to the magic passageways as well. In the end, she focussed on the corridor with the statues where she'd first discovered the Space Between. It was a relief when a sliver of light appeared in front of her.

Ginny rushed ahead and pressed her hand to the stone. It slid open and she stepped out into the corridor. The passage vanished a second later, leaving her standing next to the bust of the woman shrouded in a stone veil. Not wanting to muck around, she continued down the corridor.

"I don't like this."

Ginny froze at the familiar voice. There was a parlour not far from her and the door was slightly ajar. It sounded like Malfoy was speaking to someone inside. She inched closer.

"Someone must have betrayed the Dark Lord," Malfoy continued. "That's the only way they could have known about Potter."

Ginny clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. They were talking about Harry. Heart pounding, she leaned forward to listen more closely.

"Or they managed to kidnap a prisoner of their own," suggested a male whose voice she did not recognise. "There was a whole camp of people at that base you attacked. Any of them would have been able to tell the Dissenters that Potter was taken."

"Then how did the Dissenters know where the base is? No one was meant to know about that one except the inner circle."

There was a pause. Ginny took the chance to peek through the gap to get a better view inside the parlour. She could see Malfoy standing with his arms folded and a frown on his face. His companion, a man with tousled brown hair and pleasant yet unremarkable features, was more relaxed in his stance. The man seemed kind of familiar now that she got a look at him, but she couldn't put a name to his face.

"I don't know how they found it," the man admitted. "The Dissenter we caught killed himself before we could get any further information out of him, but at least we know it's Potter they're after."

Malfoy shook his head. "Something doesn't add up. I know them. I know they would never attack the base where they knew the Dark Lord to be residing, even on the off chance that Potter was also there. They don't take risks like that, and they've never been known to attack head-on before, which you say they did."

"I suppose it is out of character for them, but it's plausible they decided to take a risk this time. This _is_ Potter we're talking about. They've been wanting to get their hands on him for years."

"Yeah, but you said it was an easy win and that only three of our men were killed. I know we're good, Theo, but we're not _that_ good. Something's not right about this. I can feel it."

The man, who Ginny assumed must be Theodore Nott, gave a small laugh. "I never pegged you for the tea leaves and crystal ball type."

Malfoy scowled. "Laugh all you want. I know I'm right."

"If you say so. Anyway, it looks like Potter will be in your care from now on." Nott looked a bit impressed. "The Dark Lord must really favour you: trusting you with Potter, and he's even letting you stay here so you can see your mother again. Looks like all your hard work paid off."

The blond's lips pursed as if he'd sucked on something sour. "He doesn't favour me."

"Hrm?"

"Forget it." Malfoy turned the other way. "The others are probably waiting for you. You should hurry."

"Draco—"

"My aunt is the one in charge here," Malfoy said flatly. "You'll need to report to her again before you can leave." He glanced over his shoulder at the brunet. "Oh, and Theo?"

"Yeah?"

"Keep your guard up." Malfoy's expression turned grim. "Whether you want to believe me or not, something is up with the Dissenters."

Nott's eyes widened a fraction. "You're really worried about this, aren't you?"

"I'm worried there might be a traitor in our ranks."

"Fair enough. I'll keep an eye out."

Malfoy nodded and glanced away. To Ginny's horror, his gaze fell directly on her. Shit, had he seen her? She froze—too long. Nott opened the door and stopped in surprise when he almost bumped into her.

"Ginny Weasley?" he said, furrowing his brow.

Malfoy cursed and was suddenly shoving her back into the hallway. "Go to your room and stay there."

"But—"

"Go!" he hissed.

She glared at him, refusing to be budged. "He's already seen me. What's the point of trying to hide me now?"

Nott glanced between them. "I don't understand. Why is Ginny Weasley here when she's meant to be dead?"

"Dead?" Ginny repeated. Something plummeted and twisted in her stomach. "What are you talking about?"

"That's the rumour going around." Nott shrugged. "You got captured by Draco and his team, but you were killed for refusing to cooperate."

She balled her hands into fists. " _What?_ Why would they—"

"I guess they didn't want anyone from the Order to attempt a rescue." Nott scrutinised her from head to foot; she noticed that his eyes were a striking hazel and very shrewd. He shifted his gaze to the blond. "So, this is the real reason you got taken off the front lines. You've been watching her?"

Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just forget it, Theo," he said tiredly. "Forget her, forget all of this. Trust me, you don't want to get involved."

Nott's frown deepened. "Draco—"

"Don't," Malfoy cut in, but this time he raised his wand and aimed it at the other Death Eater's face. "Don't ask questions. Don't even think about this again. You have to promise you'll let it go."

A wry smile twisted Nott's mouth. "Going to Obliviate me?"

"I wasn't planning to," Malfoy said, but he didn't lower his wand. The threat was real.

Ginny licked her dry lips as she watched the two men. Malfoy and Nott stared at each other for a long moment, even as the tension rose between them. Eventually, Nott shrugged and relaxed his stance like a lazy cat who'd decided the new toy he'd found was no longer of interest.

"Alright," he said, casting one last look at Ginny. "Consider the matter forgotten. I know better than to put my nose in where it doesn't belong."

Malfoy lowered his wand. He didn't thank the man or acknowledge his words in any way except to give a small nod. Nott left them after that, hands in pockets and not even giving a backwards glance. Ginny let out a breath she didn't realise she had been holding.

"What was that all about?" she demanded.

Malfoy grabbed her by the wrist. "Come with me."

"Hey, what are you—"

He ignored her protests and used his wand to open a path to the Space Between, dragging her inside and taking her back to her bedroom. Only then did he release her. The motion made her stumble against the bed. Ginny rubbed her throbbing wrist and stared at him with narrowed eyes.

"What's your problem?" she snapped.

"Stay here," he said coldly. "Don't step even a foot outside until Tinky comes to unlock your door."

He turned to leave. Ginny made a frustrated sound and got off the bed.

"Don't ignore me!" she growled. "Hey! I'm talking to you!"

She grabbed his arm and tugged him to face her. Malfoy's expression was as hard as flint.

"Don't test me, Weasley," he gritted out in a low voice. "Just shut up and stay put."

Ginny raised her chin. "You can at least tell me what's going on!"

"Why should I? It's about time you get it in your head that I don't owe you anything." He moved closer, crowding in on her space. "You're a prisoner here and you're being kept in this room for a reason, so stop being a pain in the arse and stay _put._ I'll chain you to that bloody bed if I have to."

Her heart thudded against her ribs, but she stood her ground. "You wouldn't say that if it was you being kept in the dark! I saw how frustrated you got when Voldemort and your mum hid things from you!"

Malfoy glowered at her for a long moment before he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You are so annoying," he muttered more to himself.

She waited in silence, arms crossed. Her patience paid off.

"You heard, Theo," he said grudgingly. "You're supposed to be dead. There are other Death Eaters at the manor right now—ones who aren't supposed to know of your existence."

"Because they're bringing Harry here?"

His eyes narrowed. "You heard that?"

Her heart quickened for quite a different reason. "Then it's true? Harry is really being brought here?"

"Don't get your hopes up. Potter isn't going to wake up."

Ginny ignored this comment. She was just relieved to know that Harry was okay—or as okay as he could be while under a curse. Though it did make her wonder why Voldemort was keeping his old enemy alive; she would have thought Harry would be the top on Voldemort's list of people to kill.

"Do you know what Voldemort plans to do with him?" she asked.

Malfoy gave her an unreadable look. "Why does it matter? You know just as well as I do that Potter is no better than a useless lump of flesh."

"I still _care_!"

"Why? Because he was your boyfriend?" His lip curled into a sneer. "I don't think even Saint Potter would be happy to know his girlfriend had sex with another guy and got herself knocked up on the Dark Lord's orders."

Her face heated; she knew the blush was the awful, ruddy kind that didn't flatter her complexion. "My relationship with Harry has nothing to do with this."

"You speak as if it's still a thing," Malfoy said with a faint trace of disgust. Or maybe it was pity. "It's been four years, Weasley. Best let it go."

Ginny glared at him. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

He stepped closer. Their chests were almost touching now, and her breath caught in her throat. "You really care about him that much?"

Her stomach fluttered—all swoops and soars that whispered Malfoy was too close, though her body didn't seem to mind. His proximity made sparks tingle like magic static in the air between them. Exhilarating. Undeniable. It was a simmering hum of attraction that wound its way into her veins, into the deepest parts of her. It told her that, even if she had promised herself to Harry, it was Malfoy who stirred her blood now. That was just a fact. The blond's raised eyebrow suggested he knew it as well.

Ginny lowered her gaze. "I don't care if Harry will never look at me in that way again. He's still important to me. That isn't going to change."

Malfoy's sneer returned and seemed carved into his face. "Then you're going to be disappointed. Potter is as good as dead. That isn't going to change either."

"I don't think so," she said quietly but with conviction. "Harry will wake up. You'll see."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

His scorn was obvious. It made anger flicker inside her again, but she couldn't bring herself to lash out at him. Not this time. Shame kept her subdued—the shame of knowing she had betrayed Harry; that she was still betraying him every time she felt desire for the Death Eater in front of her. But there was pity as well. Malfoy's view of the world was so bleak. At least she still fought and hoped for something; he had nothing but orders he didn't want to follow. The code of self-preservation he clung to might keep him alive, but it would only lead to misery.

Ginny sighed and sat on the bed. " _Do_ you know what Voldemort plans to do with him?" she asked again, wanting to get a solid answer.

Malfoy shrugged. "He never said." A pause, almost hesitant. "But it doesn't seem like the Dark Lord plans to kill him."

Her eyes darted to his, but he was already glancing away. She wondered what he was trying to hide by not meeting her gaze. Or maybe he was just conscious of the fact that, for all his harsh words, he had still given her the knowledge he knew would be most comforting.

"Well, I guess that's something," she murmured.

Malfoy turned completely away from her. "Anyway, just stay here for now. Tinky will let you out once the other Death Eaters leave."

"Hey."

He glanced at her over his shoulder.

"Would you have really Obliviated Nott?"

"Yes."

There was no hesitation, and that took her by surprise.

"Isn't he your friend?"

Malfoy's mouth twitched into what almost could have been a smile. "Just because we're friends doesn't mean I'd let him get involved. It's safer for all of us if he doesn't."

She made a humming sound in the back of her throat. "So, you don't think he'll say anything or try to find out more?"

"Theo isn't an idiot. He'll keep his mouth shut."

Ginny played with a lock of her hair. "I see."

A crease formed on his brow. "Why all the questions? I didn't think you even talked to Theo in school."

She shrugged and leaned back on her palms. "Just curious. It's not like I have anything else to keep me occupied."

Malfoy folded his arms across his chest. "You're bored."

"No shit."

He didn't point out the obvious: that she should consider herself lucky to even be bored. Most of the Dark Lord's prisoners didn't get that luxury; they died all too quickly or were in so much pain that boredom was like a speck of dust at the back of their minds. But Malfoy, she was realising, was a person of action much like herself. Being stuck at the manor probably made him just as irritable and restless; in fact, she knew it did since they often bumped into each other these days: on walks in the grounds, researching in the library, just wandering the corridors like pacing animals in a cage. Fact was, they were both bored. He just did a better job of hiding it.

Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, paused, and then closed it again. It occurred to her that this was the second time he'd shown hesitation.

"What?" she prodded.

"Nothing." He shook his head and turned away. "Aunt Bellatrix is probably wondering where I am."

He created another path to the Space Between and took a step towards the passage. Ginny's fingers twitched as if to reach for him, and words almost spilled from her lips.

 _Won't you stay?_

It was like a slap to the face. She couldn't believe such a sentiment had even crossed her mind. Ginny gritted her teeth, forcing the words back, and dropped her gaze to her knees. Malfoy kept walking. The wall closed behind him, leaving her alone once more.

"Idiot," she muttered, collapsing against the bed.

It was just boredom. It wasn't like she really wanted his company. She had just been trapped in the manor for too long with nothing to do except look for an escape she couldn't find. Malfoy wasn't the nicest apple of the bunch, but at least he spoke to her. At least he treated her like a person and not just a prized vessel. In her thirst for a distraction—for any kind of human company—a part of her must have decided that was enough. Or maybe it was just because she was attracted to him. How pathetic.

"He's a Death Eater, remember?" she told herself.

And _that_ should have been enough—at least to stop her from ever wanting to talk to him. After all, there had been no ulterior motive this time when she'd thought those words. No desire to learn something, no hope that she could get him to help her research. She'd just wanted company, and right then his hadn't seemed so bad.

Ginny sighed and closed her eyes. She really was an idiot.

 **oOo**

The other Death Eaters had left. Draco had watched them pass through the front gates—a simple act he could not do himself—and just like that the walls of the manor had seemed to close around him a little more. His hands balled into fists. Calling him favoured by the Dark Lord was a joke. He was just a puppet who could not escape his strings, and he was well aware of it.

Draco pushed open the door to the guest room. The wards didn't keep him out of here at least. Most of the room was still shrouded in cloth: ornate furniture wearing veils of white. Then again, it wasn't like the only other occupant in the room was going to be using anything. His gaze narrowed on the man sleeping in the bed. Potter looked better than when Draco's team had first retrieved him from the refugee camp. Granted, the dark-haired wizard was still rather emaciated looking: his face was skull-like and he seemed to be all bones and points. Yet his cheeks seemed less sunken somehow, his body less thin. That was unexpected. It looked as if the Dark Lord did intend to keep Potter alive—had even taken the pains to ease the wizard's poor physical condition.

"Why?" Draco murmured.

But of course he had no answer. No one ever told him anything, least of all the Dark Lord. Still, it unnerved him. There were too many secrets. Too many things beyond his control and knowledge.

His frown deepened and he stepped closer to the bed. Potter didn't react. The man really was a useless lump of flesh, just as Draco had told Weasley. It was pathetic that so many people still put their hopes on this wizard. Frankly, it pissed Draco off.

"You bastard," he said, so soft it was more of a whisper. "This is your fault."

Potter wasn't supposed to have failed. This fucking lump of flesh was meant to be the Chosen One. His mother had risked everything for that belief, and she had forced Draco's hand to join with her—to make a deal with Potter so they could end the madness once and for all and finally, finally be free of the Dark Lord's grasp. But their plans had come to nothing. Potter had fallen. The curse had struck, and it had been all Draco could do to create a distraction and get Potter's body away—to get that fucking idiot Ronald Weasley away before the redhead got himself killed on top of everything else.

That was the irony, of course. Draco had never been one for heroics or acts of selflessness—all he remembered from that night was the sickening way his heart fluttered and the clammy embrace of fear—but he had still tried his best to protect them. He had tried to give the Order another chance. Despite all the odds, he'd even succeeded. Everything would have been fine if Potter had just woken up. But that bastard hadn't. Potter had stayed cursed, and then everything had fallen apart: the deal, the tentative trust. _Everything_.

"Some saviour you are," Draco muttered.

Because that was what he couldn't forgive; what had driven him to come to this room and face down this emaciated waste of flesh. For all that Draco scorned those who continued to fight against the Dark Lord, he knew that he was the biggest fool for ever believing someone like Potter—that _Scarhead_ of all people with his ugly, dumb glasses—could have stopped the most powerful dark wizard of their time.

For even now wanting an excuse to believe.

It was pathetic, and Draco knew it. He had lost everything because of Potter's failure—had well and truly had it hounded into him that sticking with the Dark Lord was his only option if he wanted to keep himself and his mother safe. But he was so very tired: of war, of feeling like a puppet who was being manipulated at every turn. He just wanted it to end, and the prophecy said that Potter was the only one who could make that happen. Yes, it was pathetic—more than pathetic—but the thought of freedom from the Dark Lord still spoke to some desperate part of him.

Draco leaned forward and gripped Potter's shoulders. "Wake up!" he hissed. "Fucking wake up, you bastard! Wake up and finish what you started!"

But Potter didn't. He couldn't. The wizarding world's saviour was gone—lost to the Dark Lord's curse—and he wasn't going to come back. Draco was still bitter when he left the room.


	11. The Dissenters

**The Dissenters**

"Are you almost finished?" Ginny demanded, staring up at the roof.

She was currently lying on her bed with her nightdress pulled up to bare her protruding stomach while Lara did the usual check-up to see how the baby was progressing. Ginny hated these visits. A sticky potion was spread over her belly that was supposed to allow the magic to sense the baby's development. It was cold and annoying. Then there was the sensor: a magical instrument that looked like a handle with a smooth ball at the top, which Lara ran over her stomach to sense the baby inside. The image was then projected on a clear surface for Lara to see, much like a mirror. Ginny wouldn't have minded this part so much except that it tickled and left her feeling unpleasantly tingly all over her stomach.

Lara removed the sensor. "Everything looks well." She wiped away the remaining potion with a cloth and stepped back. "The child is coming along fine."

"Great," Ginny said unenthusiastically, and tugged her nightgown back down to cover herself.

"Be grateful that your baby is healthy, Ginevra. The Dark Lord would not be happy if it started having complications, especially now that you're so close to the birthing stage."

"He's never happy about anything," Ginny muttered, "but thank you for reminding me of my impending death."

Normally, Lara would have made a joke at this or at least one of her usual blunt comments. Instead, she only gave a distracted smile and started collecting her things. Ginny frowned. Something wasn't right. Lara was a rather enigmatic woman, but Ginny had never seen her as distant as this. There was no impatient hair tossing, no secretive laughs and smiles, no teasing comments. Lara just did what she had been ordered to do. Ginny realised that Lara hadn't even called her "girlie" today. It was a nickname which grated on Ginny at times, but not hearing it at all seemed somehow worse.

"Is everything okay?" Ginny asked, if a little hesitantly.

Their relationship was a bit out of the ordinary, but Ginny was still wary of the woman. Lara was a Death Eater; it was best not to get close.

Lara blinked as if realising that Ginny was still there. "It's nothing. I just have a lot on my mind." She laughed. "Very much so."

Something about her laugh—the ironic tone of it—made Ginny's brow crease. "You're not just talking about a few problems troubling the brain, are you?"

Lara stared at her in a measuring way. "No," she said finally, a wry smile twisting her lips, "I'm not."

Ginny waited expectantly for Lara to go on.

"You're a curious little thing, aren't you?" Lara gave that scrutinising stare and then laughed. "Well, why not? What harm can it do?"

Not having a clue as to what Lara was talking about, Ginny saw fit to remain silent. Her patience paid off.

"I'm sure you've gathered by now that I have magical abilities one might consider rare in the wizarding world."

"Yes," Ginny admitted, "but I'm not exactly sure what those abilities are."

Lara smiled. "I'm a bit like a Seer, except I don't see or predict prophecies like Seers do. I sense things instead."

" _Sense_ things?"

"Yes. It's hard to explain, but I suppose one way to look at it would be to imagine the world as a canvas of lines. If the lines are straight, it means that everything is progressing as it should be; if the lines are wavy, it means that something is wrong. My ability allows me to see those lines."

"So, you can sense everything that is happening in the world?"

Lara chuckled. "No. To take on that much at once would kill me. To sense a disturbance in the equilibrium of the world is not a comfortable experience. Often, I'll get headaches—migraines, depending on how powerful the disturbances are—but always there is some unwanted side effect. That's why I have to limit my focus to a few people at the most. It's too dangerous otherwise." A scowl twisted her lips. "Lately, the Dark Lord has been asking more from me."

Ginny couldn't help but smile. She could just imagine how irritated Lara was getting by Voldemort's requests.

"That's how I knew about the child's unnatural growth," Lara continued. "I could sense a disturbance in the equilibrium surrounding you and the baby, which could only mean that something unexpected had happened. The limitation of my power is that I can never sense a clear picture; I only get the _feeling_ that something is wrong."

"So you can only sense the present?"

"It's easier to sense the present, but if I focus enough, I can catch glimpses of the future. It's only a feeling, of course, but it would be enough to sense if danger is coming."

"Wow."

"I assure you, it's no picnic." Lara rubbed her temples. "It was bad enough when I was just following the Dark Lord, Draco, and you, but now I'm being forced to track the Dissenters' movements as well. They've been suspiciously active. Because I have no clear figure to follow, it makes it even harder for me to pinpoint what their next move will be. That means a whole lot of headaches."

Ginny frowned. The Dissenters were the ones who had been searching for Harry and attacking the Death Eater bases, but Harry was at the manor now. Not that she had been able to see him. Even nagging Malfoy hadn't got her anywhere. In fact, the blonde seemed to have taken up avoiding her again. Her ego hadn't liked that, but she had to admit a part of her was a bit relieved to get some space from him as well. It helped clear her head—reminded her that he was her enemy, not a friend whose company she could enjoy.

Lara let out a tired sigh, drawing Ginny's attention back to the present. "I shouldn't even be telling you this. Draco and Bellatrix are the only other people besides the Dark Lord who know the truth about my ability."

"I won't tell anyone," Ginny promised. "It's not like I have anyone to tell. I'm a prisoner, remember?"

"I suppose." Lara gave Ginny the piercing look that had always reminded her of Dumbledore. "I know you're getting restless, but try not to do anything reckless. You'd best quit using the Space Between as well."

Ginny blinked. "You know about that?"

"The disturbances aren't just limited to unnatural occurrences. I _can_ focus on what I want to find out. In your case, my sole focus is to ensure that you remain at the manor and that you and the child are both healthy. Naturally, I am going to notice if you vanish off the grid, so to speak."

"That's some gift," Ginny remarked, reluctantly awestruck, even though she had just realised that escaping was now very much out of the question with Lara around.

"Perhaps. Right now I'd rather not have to deal with it."

"Are the headaches that bad?"

"Sometimes," Lara admitted. "It's more than just headaches, though. Trying to follow too many things at once may be dangerous because it uses too much mental power, but it also means that it's harder to focus in general. It's like trying to spread a small amount of butter over a large slice of bread. It's just not possible to cover everything satisfactorily; the best you can hope for is a very thin coating."

"So there are gaps in what you can sense?"

"Yes, there are gaps," Lara murmured, turning to stare out the window. "And right now I get the feeling that I'm missing something important. I just don't know what it is."

 **oOo**

Ginny was still frowning over Lara's words when she arrived in the dining room for dinner that night. It had taken a lot to process everything, but she guessed that she should have seen it coming. Lara had always carried an air of omniscience about her. She was much like Dumbledore in that respect. Ginny wondered if he too had been able to sense things.

"Is everything alright?" Narcissa asked, perhaps noticing her furrowed brow and downcast lips.

"Oh," Ginny said distractedly. "Yeah, everything's fine."

She sat down at her usual seat and poured herself a glass of water. Malfoy was sitting opposite her. For some reason, his presence made her overly conscious—of her pulse, her breathing, her movements. She fumbled as she placed her cup down, spilling a few drops of water. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Their eyes met, but both glanced away from each other a second later. Well, at least he hadn't teased her about her clumsiness. The boy she had known from school wouldn't have hesitated.

Ginny forced herself to calm. She noticed Bellatrix wasn't at the table. That was unusual.

"Crazy Bitch isn't presiding tonight?" she questioned.

Malfoy's mouth twitched as if he was trying not to smile at her choice of words. Narcissa was less amused and told Ginny off for her language. Apparently, it wasn't appropriate for the dinner table.

"So, you don't mind if I call her that at other times?" Ginny asked with false innocence.

Narcissa stared at her coolly. "That would be childish."

Ginny bit her lip. She had to resist the urge to apologise. It seemed that all mothers, regardless of how they expressed their disapproval, had a knack for getting one to feel bad. She caught Malfoy's eye and noticed his smile had widened a fraction. Her stomach fluttered. The softness of his expression took her off guard, but there was an unexpected sense of camaraderie about the moment as well. It didn't help that he looked rather attractive when he smiled like that: amused, understanding. Of course he knew what it was like to be reprimanded by his mother.

Irritated by her body's reaction, Ginny returned her attention to her plate of food. Narcissa was appeased enough by the lack of a retort to relent; she explained that Bellatrix had been called away by the Dark Lord.

Ginny stilled. "Will she be coming back?"

"Don't get your hopes up," Malfoy said frankly. "She'll be back by tomorrow most likely."

Ginny said nothing, though her shoulders slumped. Aside from detesting Bellatrix, she knew she had a better chance of escaping without the dark-haired witch present. Her only comfort was that no one else seemed to want Bellatrix to return either. Malfoy's lip had curled in distaste, and even Narcissa scrunched her nose a little as if she'd caught whiff of a bad smell. Bellatrix was simply too cruel and unpredictable; no one wanted her around.

The trio continued to eat their dinner in relative silence, each getting lost in their own thoughts. It wasn't exactly awkward, but it wasn't comfortable either. Ginny kept finding her gaze straying to Malfoy. Their eyes met more than once. She had an urge to talk to him but also didn't want to talk to him. Or maybe it was just that she shouldn't. He took the choice from her by excusing himself early. More than half of the food remained on his plate; it looked like he'd mostly been pushing his meal around with his fork. Narcissa pursed her lips, but she didn't comment on her son's eating habits. Perhaps she knew it wouldn't make a difference.

Ginny frowned and went back to finishing her own meal. She was still pensive by the time she returned to her room. Absently, she flicked through a few books she had brought back from the library. Nothing could hold her attention. Tiredness was quickly kicking in. After smothering what felt like her hundredth yawn, she decided to just go to bed. Not that she slept long; war had made her quick to be on alert. The scuffing sound was all it took to jolt her awake.

Her eyes snapped open. She got a brief glimpse of a black mask shaped with no features except for eye slits. A scream escaped her and she pushed with all her might at the person leaning over her. The person—a man, judging from his low grunt—fell back. Ginny wasted no time and leapt out of the bed. Her heart tried to jump into her throat as she raced for the door. She fumbled with the handle, almost skidding as she ran into the hallway and barely dodged the curse the man cast at her.

Ginny didn't stop. She had no wand and no way of defending herself against an armed wizard. So she kept running, hardly able to see in the darkness, but knowing that if she hesitated now, it was all over. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. Her heart pounded so hard that it felt like her ribs were going to splinter from the pressure. She could hear the man chasing her, his heavy feet thumping down the hallway like a war drum. It was the sound of defeat, and Ginny knew it was coming for her.

She grabbed a vase that was in easy reach and threw it back as hard as she could. The resounding smash and loud curse was enough to tell her that the vase had found its mark, but Ginny didn't pause to check to see how much damage she had done. Turning down another hallway, she was just deciding whether to hide in one of the rooms or keep running when an arm came out of nowhere and yanked her into an alcove. She yelped in surprise, but a hand swiftly clamped over her mouth. Suddenly, she found herself trapped against a man's chest. Ginny struggled against the arms holding her in place, kicking at anything she could reach and trying to bite his hand.

"Relax," a voice murmured near her ear.

It was a voice Ginny had no trouble recognising and one she thought could never give so much relief as it did then. Her body instinctively obeyed the command. The hand was removed from her mouth. Ginny turned to see Malfoy staring down at her, his face just visible in the semidarkness. She couldn't explain why she felt safe in that moment. All she knew was that having his arms around her felt like just she'd grasped an anchor.

"I need you to stay quiet," he said, still keeping his voice low.

Ginny nodded. He kept one arm around her waist to hold her close and then gripped his wand more firmly with his free hand. He pulled her with him so that they were both flat against the wall. Very carefully, he edged closer to where the hallway curved to connect with the one Ginny had just fled. Her heart was still hammering against her ribs, but she was able to think more rationally now. It made her question how an intruder had even got inside the manor, let alone had known where she had been sleeping.

"Come out, come out," a smooth voice called tauntingly. "I know you're hiding around here somewhere."

Ginny tensed. Without even realising, she tightened her grip on Malfoy. The man's footsteps came closer from the darkened hallway. She couldn't help but feel grateful for Malfoy's solid presence. At least he had a wand.

"Very well," the man continued, his voice so close now that Ginny knew he must be just around the corner. "I'll let you play your game of hide and seek, but I will find you. I always do."

The footsteps came closer. Ginny wondered why Malfoy wasn't doing anything. She would have been firing off hexes by now. Just when she thought they were sure to be discovered, the blond moved with deadly speed. There was a blinding flash of red, a heavy thud, and then everything went still once more.

"Too bad for you," Malfoy murmured, picking up the man's dropped wand and pocketing it. "I found her first."

Ginny let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. "Is he dead?"

"No." Malfoy's eyes fastened on hers. "Were there any more of them?"

"I don't know. There was only one in my room, but—"

He created an opening to the Space Between, dragging Ginny along with him into the passage. She could tell by his clenched jaw that he was worried. Eventually, they entered what looked like a guest room. She caught sight of a black-clothed man, who was holding a necklace and reaching towards the unconscious figure lying on the bed. It took her a second to realise the figure was Harry; that same second was all it took for Malfoy to act.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

Light filled the room in a burst of sickly green. No spell could block the attack and it was too late for the man to dodge. His body hit the ground with a thud, only to vanish; his fingers had still been touching the portkey-charmed necklace. Harry remained on the bed, oblivious to the world around him. Ginny's heartbeat refused to slow. If Malfoy had hesitated even a second, she knew that Harry would have been Portkeyed beyond their reach by now.

"Do you think that was the last of them?" she asked, turning to look up at the blond.

"I don't know." He frowned. "Tinky!"

The house-elf immediately appeared in a low bow. "Tinky is here."

"Check the rest of the house for intruders," Malfoy ordered. "Alert me straight away if you find any. And make sure my mother is safe. No doubt she would have been disturbed by the commotion, but she's smart enough not to leave her room while we're being attacked."

Tinky bowed again and vanished with a loud crack.

Malfoy walked over to Harry and picked him up, slinging the emaciated body over his shoulder. He gripped his wand more tightly and turned to her. "Let's go, but stay close to me. I won't be able to protect you if you're too far away."

Ginny nodded and followed him out of the room. They got back to the man Malfoy had left unconscious without any trouble. Malfoy levelled his wand at the man and used a levitating charm to lift him off the ground.

"I need you to open that door," he said, gesturing to the parlour a few feet from them.

Ginny obliged and held it open for him so he could guide the man into the room with his wand. He motioned for her to go inside, following with Harry, and then shut the door behind him. Malfoy dumped Harry on one of the sofas and then turned to the masked figure now lying on the floor. He dragged the man over towards one of the armchairs, hauling him up so that he was sitting on the chair, and then calmly conjured chains to keep the man in place.

"What are you going to do with him?" Ginny asked.

"Interrogate him."

Ginny didn't like the sound of that, but she was so exhausted from everything that had happened that she simply collapsed onto a chair. Tinky appeared a second later and said that no other intruders had been found and that Narcissa was safe in her room. Malfoy nodded in acknowledgement. The elf vanished.

"Now for this," Malfoy muttered.

It was like watching him put on a mask: his expression became unnervingly neutral, betraying not the slightest hint of emotion. Malfoy then used the _Enervate_ spell on the man, who thrashed against his chains. The blond pulled the mask off the other's face, revealing dark skin, handsome features, and slanted eyes. Malfoy stilled. Ginny openly gaped in shock; she had not expected it to be this wizard under the mask.

"Zabini," Malfoy said with narrowed eyes. "You're a Dissenter?"

Zabini smiled as soon as he realised who was before him, showing every one of his perfectly white teeth. "Long time no see, Draco. I wish we could reacquaint ourselves under better circumstances. How about you let me go and we try again?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

"Well, you have sided with the Dark Lord. I would say that rates pretty high on the idiocy scales."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "You're the one chained to a chair."

Some of Zabini's arrogance flickered, but he tried to cover his worry by plastering a mocking smile on his lips. "What? Are you going to torture an old school friend?"

"If that's what it comes to." Malfoy leaned forward so they were at eye level. "You're going to tell me what you know. I recommend you cooperate and spare yourself the pain."

"I'm not telling you anything."

"I think you will," Malfoy said softly. "My aunt might be insane, but she did train me well. You'll find I'm rather gifted at getting information out of people."

Ginny saw the fear shining in Zabini's eyes and knew that she didn't want to watch this. She averted her face, but nothing could stop the snap of bone being broken or the scream of pain that followed.

"Tell me how you knew Potter and Weasley were being kept here," Malfoy ordered.

"No."

There was another crack of bone snapping. This time the scream turned into more of a sob.

"Let's try that again," Malfoy said coolly. "How did you know they were here? Is there someone in the Dark Lord's inner circle working for you?"

Silence.

The blond sighed and she heard two more sickening snaps. "You have four fingers left. You do not want to know what happens when I run out of fingers."

Zabini groaned in pain, his breathing ragged. Ginny dared a glance and almost gagged at the sight of his fingers sticking out in odd angles. Still, though she was sickened by the violence, she found that she had little sympathy for him. Zabini had been going to kidnap her. If she was going to be anyone's captive, she knew that she would prefer to be with Malfoy.

"Very well," Malfoy said, shifting to the next hand. "Let's start small. How did you get past the wards? You have three seconds to answer before I break another finger."

Zabini remained silent.

Malfoy used his wand to bend back the middle finger. Three more seconds passed and then another finger was broken, then another, and then another.

"To think you'd last this long," Malfoy said in mocking praise. "Your leader would be so proud." He slipped a dagger out from his sleeve and placed the tip at the corner of Zabini's right eye. "Let's see if I can get your tongue loosened with this. I've never quite managed to pop an eye out in one go, but I'm sure we can gouge it out if it proves difficult."

"Alright! Alright!" Zabini choked out, much to Ginny's relief; she had not wanted to watch his eye get removed. "I'll talk."

Malfoy stepped back and folded his arms. His expression was grim. "Then talk."

"Someone in the inner circle has betrayed the Dark Lord. I can't tell you who, I don't know myself, but whoever it is has been feeding us information. They told us about how you and your men attacked one of the refugee camps and kidnapped Potter and Weasley. Later, we found out that you had moved Weasley to Malfoy Manor, though Potter remained at a different base."

"Go on," Malfoy prompted, watching him intently.

Zabini swallowed. "We decided that if Weasley was important enough for the Dark Lord to kidnap, she'd be useful for us too. Our informant suggested we stage an attack on the Death Eater base to make it look like we were going solely after Potter."

"I see," Malfoy murmured. "You were hoping that they would move Potter here so you could kill two birds with one hex."

"Yes. We knew it'd be easier to get Potter and the girl from here than at the base. The trickiest part was getting through the wards."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "How did you mange that?"

"Our informant. Whoever it was did something to the wards so we could portkey in and out."

A hiss escaped Malfoy's clenched teeth. "And?"

"That's it." Sweat dripped down Zabini's face. "I don't know anything else and the plan failed, so what does it matter? Now are you going to heal me? This bloody hurts, you know."

Malfoy's lip curled. He mended the broken bones with his magic but made no move to unchain Zabini. "I hope for your sake you do have more information to offer. You won't last long with the Death Eaters if you don't."

Zabini's eyes widened. "You're handing me over to them?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"But they'll kill me!"

"Probably," Malfoy said without feeling. "Don't know what else you expected; you knew the risk when you became a Dissenter."

Zabini's voice thickened with sudden urgency. "Wait! I—I'll join you. I can work as a double agent and—"

His voice suddenly vanished. Malfoy lowered his wand; he must have cast a silencing charm on the dark-skinned wizard.

"Do you really think I'd trust someone so quick to betray their own?" Malfoy said in distaste. "Your words are meaningless. All I had to do was threaten your looks and you caved like a snivelling coward."

Zabini's mouth opened and closed but no words came out.

Malfoy shook his head. "Things aren't like how they used to be. Vanity and cowardice have no place in this war, Zabini. You should have stayed out of it, but it's too late now. You made your bed; now you have to shut up and deal with it."

He flicked his wand and this time two spells shot out: one to immobilise Zabini completely, and the other to knock him unconscious. Only then did Malfoy let out a breath and allow his mask to slip. Ginny saw the creases that formed on his brow and the downturned corners of his mouth. She remembered that he and Zabini had been friends of a sort back in school.

"Will he really be killed?" she asked.

Malfoy ran a hand over his face. "Eventually, yes. He'll be tortured first until the Dark Lord gets every last drop of information out of him."

Her stomach twisted. It wasn't that she pitied or even wanted to protect Zabini; maybe it was just because they'd all attended school together. Zabini had always been one of the harmless ones back at Hogwarts; she'd used to tease him for being a vain narcissist. It was unsettling to think of what he had become—of what would happen to him now and also what she had witnessed Malfoy do to him. Everything was so messed up.

"Would you have really cut out his eye?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Yes."

Malfoy's tone was matter-of-fact. That surprised her since she'd got the feeling he hadn't particularly liked torturing Zabini.

"But he used to be your friend," she said, furrowing her brow. "Even the way you just broke his fingers was so—"

"Torture is the fastest method of getting information when there's no Veritaserum, and even truth serums aren't reliable. I didn't have the time to play nice."

Her frown deepened. She supposed she should have known he'd respond in such a way. He was a Death Eater and had not hesitated when killing the other Dissenter. Hell, he'd even tortured her back when she'd first been taken and he'd wanted information. Malfoy was the kind of person who would do whatever was necessary. Still, somehow she'd expected more from him.

"I need to get this mess sorted," Malfoy announced, levitating Blaise—chair and all—and moving towards the door. "Wait here with Potter. I'll be back soon."

"You're just going to leave me here without any way to protect myself?" Ginny demanded.

"I'll put a charm on the room; no one will be able to get in."

Ginny started to protest, but he was gone before she could finish her sentence. She sighed and made her way to where Harry was sleeping. This was probably the only positive thing that had come from tonight's events; she had finally got a chance to see Harry. It surprised her to see that he was looking healthier: he'd put on a bit of weight and some of the colour had returned to his face.

"Have they been healing you?" she mused aloud.

It should have been comforting, but the fact only made her stomach twist even more. Just what the heck was going on?

Ginny sat next to him on the sofa and brushed her fingers against his hand. He didn't respond, but that was to be expected. It was an odd mixture of feelings that stirred within her: sadness, relief, guilt. Comatose as he was, she found it difficult to face him. Her body refused to let her forget that she'd had sex with Malfoy and enjoyed it—that she still felt attracted to the blond. She'd even stopped wearing the necklace with the ring that Harry had given her; she'd felt too ashamed.

Still, if she were to be completely honest, her biggest shame was that she just didn't want to keep her promise to Harry anymore. It was a realisation that had snuck up on her like the shadows at twilight. She had waited for him for four years and he was just as lifeless now as he had been from the beginning. It was tiring. It was so much harder when her heart fluttered and jumped for another man. She just—she didn't love him anymore. It was almost liberating to admit that to herself. Sure, she cared for Harry, but looking at his face now, Ginny knew that what she had really wanted all these years was just for him to wake up and end this war.

She had wanted him to be her saviour.

Tears prickled her eyes and she reached out to caress his face. "I'm sorry, Harry. I can't wait for you anymore."

Malfoy and Ron had both given up on Harry fulfilling the prophecy. Her brother had grown bitter as the years had passed, while Malfoy—as far as she had been able to piece together—had simply decided there was no chance of defeating Voldemort and had thrown himself back in with the Death Eaters. She didn't want to be like them—to just give up altogether—but they were right about one thing: hoping wasn't enough. There was no saying when or even if Harry would wake. Maybe it was time to let that particular dream go.

Ginny was still lost in these musings when Malfoy returned to the room. There was no sign of Zabini, so she could only assume he'd been sent off to the Death Eater headquarters. Malfoy wasted no time in telling her that she and Harry were going to be moved to the wing where he and his mother slept just in case anything like this happened again. It would be easier if they were all closer together.

"You think more people will come, then?" she asked.

"The Dissenters are determined." Malfoy ran a hand through his hair. "The wards have been fixed to stop the use of portkeys, but the fact this happened at all is not good. Tampering with the manor's wards is not something the average witch or wizard can do; whoever did this is very skilled."

She licked her dry lips. "So, what now?"

"Now we stay on our guard. I doubt the Dissenters will use the same plan since they lost both their men in the attempt, but you can be sure that they'll think of something else. They always do."

A chill crept down her spine.

"How did Lara not sense this?" Malfoy muttered more to himself. "You and Potter could have been kidnapped and none of us would have known any better."

Ginny lowered her gaze to her hands. She knew about Lara's secret, but he didn't know that. It was probably better it stayed that way as well.

Malfoy made a frustrated sound. "Whatever. There's nothing we can do about this for the moment." He flicked his wand at Harry, who levitated from the sofa. "Come on," he said, gesturing for her to follow as he headed for the door. "I'll take you to your new room."

"Okay."

They walked in silence to where the master bedrooms were kept. Malfoy deposited Harry in one of the rooms and then led her to another. It was nicer than her old guest room: all luxurious marquetry and silk, but it was also obvious that no one had used the room in years—maybe centuries. There was a dated look about the furniture that seemed like it belonged more in the eighteenth century. Even the chandelier was fitted with candles instead of witchlights.

"The rest of your belongings will be brought here tomorrow," Malfoy said. "You should get some sleep for now."

"Are you kidding?" Ginny shook her head. "There's no way I'm going to be able to sleep. Zabini tried to kidnap me! What if someone else comes?"

"I doubt the Dissenters will make another move tonight."

"It doesn't matter! I still won't be able to sleep!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Then don't sleep. I, on the other hand, am tired and do want to go back to bed."

He started moving towards the door, but a small tug on his arm made him stop.

"What?" he said shortly.

Ginny chewed on her bottom lip. It was her feet that had dragged her to his side before she could actually think about what she was doing. Now that she was here and looking up at him, she realised that she didn't want to let him go. "Could you—I mean, would you stay with me?"

Malfoy blinked.

"You don't have to do anything," she hurriedly went on to explain. "I just—I don't want to be alone."

His brow creased. "Let me get this straight," he said slowly. "You want me to stay here with you so that you don't feel scared?"

She nodded, even as her cheeks heated at having to admit such a thing.

"That is ridiculous."

Ginny's blush deepened. She knew it was an odd request given that he was the one who had snatched her away first, but right now he was also the only thing close to security that she had. She couldn't stay alone in this room on her own—not tonight. Not after everything that had happened. No matter how strong or brave she could be, she was still only twenty years old and it wasn't like she had a wand to protect herself. Waking up to have Zabini looming over her had been terrifying.

"Come on, Malfoy," Ginny begged, throwing her pride to the winds. "It's just for tonight."

He stared at her for a moment and then gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine. It's almost morning anyway."

Ginny flashed him a smile. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me," he muttered, shrugging off her hand. "I just don't want the Dark Lord to punish me because you're looking a bit tired or something."

She wasn't sure if that was meant to be a joke, but she decided not to push her luck by saying anything else. They both headed for the bed. There was an awkward moment as they realised neither was planning to take the sofa. Malfoy seemed to decide he was too tired to care and simply made himself comfortable in the bed. Ginny let out a breath and followed suit, pulling the covers right up to her chin. The candles were extinguished a second later. Now they were just lying next to each other in the darkness.

"Hey," she said after a while. "You still awake?"

"Shut up, Weasley," came the grumpy reply.

Her mouth twitched. She rolled over onto her side and relaxed against the pillow. There was no saying what the future would bring, but for the second time that night she felt enveloped by the reassuring knowledge that she was safe. Malfoy might be a total arse sometimes and a Death Eater, but he would protect her—of that she was now certain.

 **oOo**

Lara let out a shuddering gasp. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she clutched at her body as if trying to stop herself from falling apart at the seams. Her knees were stinging from the impact of being crippled, but that was nothing to the pain that had forced her to the ground in the first place.

A laugh echoed around the room, the malice held within the raspy chuckles gliding up and down her spine like the slicing touch of a knife. Her gaze lifted, meeting the hooded black that stared at her from a face ravaged of its once infamous beauty. Bellatrix laughed again and lowered her wand. She was panting, her eyes glowing with excitement, as if inflicting pain and watching another suffer was somehow erotically stimulating to her. Knowing Bellatrix, it probably was. It was obvious the woman could barely contain the delight she felt in being able to torture Lara.

Lara could see it, _feel_ it all. The woman hated her—wanted nothing more than to peel her skin off with just her fingernails and then rip out organs and bones one piece at a time. It was amazing that Bellatrix had not already attempted to kill her, but Lara knew that however insane Bellatrix might be, she was also not stupid. Bellatrix would never defy the Dark Lord—not openly—but the itch to kill was still there. That itch was always there.

No doubt it was jealousy that had done it. Bellatrix had served as Voldemort's right-hand woman for years. There was no one more important to the Dark Lord than her—save her nephew—and Voldemort had given her the honour of training Draco. He had trusted her with all his most important tasks and secrets. He had _needed_ her, but then Lara had come along with all her special powers and Bellatrix had found herself thrust to the side. No more did the Dark Lord call upon her, no more did he confide in her. She had become second best, almost unnecessary.

Bellatrix raised her wand to fire another curse, her expression oozing with years of pent up hate. Lara knew she would be lucky to make it out of this unscathed.

"That's enough, Bella," Voldemort said, stepping out from the shadows. "Her mind is far too precious for you to damage."

Bellatrix lowered her wand, though her eyes continued to glare at Lara with sadistic promises.

Voldemort stopped before the kneeling brunette. "You have failed me, Lara."

It was a speech that Lara had heard him give many times to his Death Eaters when they had displeased him. This was the first time it had been directed to her.

She had always thought herself as clever—far cleverer than him. It had been so easy to gain his favour, so easy to remain confident even under the face of his suspicion and paranoia. She had skirted and deferred his displeasure, using her powers to protect her own thoughts and plans, but she had not been prepared for this. She had never thought that she could actually fail.

"I'm sorry, my lord," Lara said, bowing. "It will not happen again."

There was nothing else she could say. She could already sense that he would not listen to her explanations.

"Being sorry does not change that you almost caused Potter and the girl to be taken by Dissenters!" Bellatrix spat. "Everything could have been lost because _you_ failed to do your job!"

"Bella is right," Voldemort said, tilting her chin up so she was forced to meet his gaze. "Your failure to recognise there was a traitor in our ranks could have been catastrophic to our plans. To lose Potter is one thing, but to lose the girl is unforgivable."

Lara's eyes flashed. "I told you it was dangerous to ask me to follow too many things. I can't sense everything; I'm not that powerful."

"Then what use are you?"

Her heart leapt in her chest as she felt the equilibrium of her own life begin to destabilise. Things had suddenly become desperate.

She struggled to her feet, head held high. "Was I not the one who told you who Ginevra was and what her powers had the potential to do? Did I not tell you that you had simply to force Ginevra to offer herself to Draco to ensure they would have a child together? Was I not the one who helped you to find the Order's base in the first place so that you could even get Potter and Ginevra to bring them here?"

Voldemort considered her through his crimson eyes. His expression was unreadable, even for her. She felt a moment of panic as the feeling of impending death became stronger, but then his lips curved ever so slightly into a smile.

"Indeed, you were."

Lara felt the threat lift as the equilibrium surrounding her life fell back into place.

Voldemort's eyes flickered to Bellatrix. "I'm sorry, my dear. It seems that you will not get to kill our friend Lara after all."

Bellatrix's disappointment could not have been more obvious.

"That being said," Voldemort continued, turning his attention back to the brunette. "Another mistake like this and I will have no further use for you. I'm sure you don't need your magic to figure out what will happen then."

"I understand," she said tightly.

"Good. Then hurry and learn the identity of the traitor in our ranks." He raised his eyebrow—or what was left of it. "You are capable of that much, aren't you?"

"Yes."

His lips curved and he strolled out of the room. Bellatrix trailed behind him like a fawning dog shadowing her master's footsteps. Lara waited until the door had shut before allowing a frown to pass across her lips. She needed to think, and she needed to think fast. Voldemort had not set a specific deadline, but the threat to her life was real; if she did not give him an identity for the traitor soon, she would be killed.

Her gaze lowered to the Dark Mark tattooed onto her forearm. It was the brand of a Death Eater: the sign that proclaimed her allegiance to Voldemort, as well as his ownership over her body. Only those of the inner circle actually received the mark—the ones who had proven they were worthy enough to be considered his most _trusted_ servants.

Lara's mouth twisted into a smile. She allowed her sleeve to cover the tattoo and then moved towards the bed. The candle flickered beside her, spluttering and crackling as it desperately tried to cling to life. One soft breath extinguished the flame, and then there was darkness.


	12. Suspicion

**Suspicion**

Draco woke to the brightness of the sun streaming in through the closed curtains. Weasley was still asleep next to him. She made a soft noise and rolled over his way, red hair tangled against her cheek and the pillow. He was pretty sure he spotted some drool mushed in there as well. Not attractive. Still, as he watched her sleep in her graceless way, he found that his mouth twitched a little and he was conscious of a sense of … fondness?

He froze and tore his gaze away from the sleeping redhead. That was not a thought to indulge.

Draco sat up in the bed and eased the covers off him. He was trying not to wake her, but she must not have been much of a deep sleeper. A slurred "morning" told him that his movement had woken her. He turned to find her watching him through sleepy eyes. She had her hands tucked up under her chin. For some reason, she reminded him of a little freckled kitten.

"There's drool on your cheek," he said.

Weasley wiped at her face without any embarrassment. He should have known that he wouldn't be able to fluster her.

She sat up and stretched her arms above her head and Draco was annoyed to find his gaze dipping to her chest. His blood stirred at the way the nightdress tightened against her body with the movement. That pissed him off as well. She practically didn't have curves. What was there even to get excited about? He was acting like some over-hormonal, sex-starved teenager. Fuck mornings and fuck this.

Draco got off the bed. He had only taken a few steps before Weasley spoke.

"Someone's in a rush."

He glanced back at her. "It's morning and, as you can see, no one else came to attack. There's no reason for me to stay."

"Right."

Did she sound disappointed? His brow creased a little.

She played with a few strands of her hair, not quite meeting his gaze. "Well, thanks for staying with me, I guess. I know it was a weird request and I know you didn't want to, but it helped."

Draco felt weirdly on the wrong foot. Maybe it was because the situation felt too normal, even though it was anything but. A girl who had been scared, a guy who had spent the night with her so she could sleep easier. The awkwardness, the unspoken hum of attraction. It felt like they were tiptoeing around something they shouldn't.

"Just don't expect this to happen again," he said flatly.

"Don't worry." She flopped against the pillows and seemed to dismiss him entirely. "I won't."

Draco didn't linger.

 **oOo**

It was after lunch when Lara found him. He'd been sitting in the library and staring blankly at his research when she'd turned up.

"Back to this again?" she observed, glancing down at the open books and the notes he'd scrawled on parchment.

Draco vanished it all with a wave of his wand. "What do you want?"

Her eyebrows rose. "Is that anyway to greet me?"

"Thanks to the Dissenters, I didn't have a particularly good time last night. You'll have to forgive me if I don't seem pleased to see you."

She fidgeted with a paper weight on the desk. "Ah. Yes, that was unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?" Suddenly he was standing. "You call that _unfortunate_? Weasley and Potter almost got taken! Isn't it your job to ensure this kind of thing doesn't happen? I mean, even I had my suspicions about there being a traitor. How did you fucking miss this?"

"It's not that easy, alright?" Lara said irritably. "Do you have any idea how many Death Eaters want the Dark Lord dead so that they can take his place? They all hate him, Draco. Even you. Trying to single out one person amongst that is like trying to find a stone in muddy water. You can't see it just by glancing at the surface. You have to search deep, and with everything else going on, I haven't been able to focus enough to do that."

"But you must be able to find out who the traitor is now?"

Lara shook her head. "My powers work based on feelings. I can't just close my eyes and get a picture of the traitor. I have to feel their identity. That takes time."

"I still find it hard to believe you didn't sense anything. In fact, the more I think about it, the more it doesn't add up."

She laughed. "Are you suggesting that I'm the traitor? Don't be absurd, Draco."

"Absurd? I'll tell you what's absurd. Last night two Dissenters, who had clearly been planning their mission for some time, managed to not only infiltrate the manor but also very nearly succeeded in kidnapping the Dark Lord's most precious prisoners from right under our nose. It's by mere chance that Weasley and Potter are still here." His eyes narrowed. "Now you tell me how you, with all of your powers, failed to notice that something as major as this was coming."

"Believe me, I've been asking myself that same question and I wish I could give a better explanation as to why I didn't, but I can't. I just didn't sense it. I'm human, Draco. I make mistakes."

"You really expect me to believe that? I've seen what your powers are capable of."

Lara met his gaze unflinchingly. "Like I said, I made a mistake. I stretched my magic too thin and this is the result. That's actually why I'm here."

He frowned in question.

"I can't keep tracking you," she said. "It disturbs the equilibrium too much."

"Wait. That's why you—"

"I was worried."

She said it so simply and he didn't like the way it made him feel. He felt small, childish, guilty. He found that he wanted to believe her. But he also couldn't ignore the niggling feeling which cautioned against trusting her too much. Draco didn't need to have sensing powers to know that there was far more to her than she let on.

His memories of the day she had first come to them were hazy. It had been a difficult time; his father had been killed only a week before. His mother and aunt had since told him that he'd lost control of his magic that day as well and Lara had helped him through it. Still, Draco had never forgotten the way she had looked at him. He'd gone to make a report to the Dark Lord when, before he could even knock on the door, both Lara and Voldemort had exited the room. The Dark Lord hadn't paid any attention to him at first, too pleased with his newly acquired servant, but Lara had seen him. Her eyes had locked on him as soon as she had passed through the door, a knowing look creeping into the blue as if _he_ had been the one that she was looking for all along.

In that moment, as he had stared into those electric-blue eyes, Draco had known that this was a woman who just _knew_ things. About him, about everything. She knew too much and revealed too little and in that she was dangerous.

But she had helped him over the years, of that he could not deny. She had warned him of danger countless times. Then, too, there was the fact that she had become a sort of _friend_ to him, though he was not quite sure how that had happened.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Is that all you wanted to say? I never asked you to track me anyway."

"Just try not to screw up," she told him. "Your magic is still volatile."

"Why don't you take your own advice? You're the one in the Dark Lord's black books."

She smiled. "Oh, I'm aware. That's also why I'm here. I came to investigate the wards, see if I can find any clues."

He stared into her eyes—eyes that still held too many secrets for his comfort. Slowly, he let out a breath. "I'm guessing you want my help."

Her smile widened. "You know them better than I do. Between the two of us, perhaps we can find something."

"Alright."

If it meant avoiding another repeat performance of last night, he didn't mind helping her. Draco knew that they were all dead if something happened to Weasley or Potter.

 **oOo**

Ginny paced in her room. She was restless. The events from last night had left her shaken and her feet itching. It was one thing to accept that Malfoy would protect her, but that didn't mean she was ready to accept her situation as a prisoner in the manor. People were targeting her now. Her and Harry. She knew she had to figure out a way for them both to escape. The problem, as usual, was that the only clue she had was the one Narcissa had left in the journal.

She looked over at the ornate dresser where the cream book was sitting on top. Tinky had moved all of the things in her old room to the new one earlier that morning. Ginny hadn't expected the journal to come with them, but there it was. Malfoy hadn't demanded it back and she'd felt too awkward about handing it to Narcissa.

"Ugh, fine," she groaned to herself.

She still couldn't bring herself to give it to Narcissa, but it wasn't like the journal had anything new to offer. She'd just put it back in the garden where she'd found it.

Ginny grabbed the journal and then wandered the corridors, passing silent portraits and never seeing a trace of another human. It struck her how horrible it must have been for Narcissa to have been trapped in this place with only Tinky the house elf for company for four years. Had anyone come to visit? Malfoy couldn't, but what of others? Would that have even been a good thing if they had? Ginny thought she would have gone crazy had she been in Narcissa's position.

She pushed the large entrance doors open and stepped out into the sunshine. It was a nice day. That seemed wrong somehow, as if beautiful days weren't supposed to exist anymore. Still, the warmth and the brightness of the blue sky did make the tension ease from her shoulders.

It didn't take her long to reach the hidden garden. She stepped inside to the scent of flowers. Fairies fluttered to and fro like little balls of light floating on gossamer wings, but what drew Ginny's gaze was the woman sitting on the bench near the weeping cherry tree. Well, shit.

Narcissa stood up. "I see you found this place." Her eyes lowered to the cream book in Ginny's hand. Her mouth tightened a fraction.

"Sorry." Ginny swallowed and held out the journal. "I uh, found it the last time I came here. It's yours, right?"

"You read it."

"There wasn't much to rea—" Ginny broke off with a flush. "I mean, um, yeah. Sorry."

Narcissa looked at her for a moment and then took the journal from her hands. "I almost forgot about this," she said more to herself.

There was a long silence. Words bubbled up on the tip of Ginny's tongue, threatening to spill. So many questions she wanted to ask, so many things she wanted know. She had heard Bellatrix and Malfoy's parts of the story, but both had felt like brushing the surface. Ginny was nosy enough to want to know more.

"You're really good," Ginny said when the silence got too much. She made an awkward gesture at the journal. "At drawing, I mean."

"It's just a way to pass time."

The flat tone suggested Narcissa wasn't in the mood to talk about such things. Ginny wondered if she should just leave, but then the blonde surprised her by continuing to speak.

"You should think about taking up a hobby yourself. It might spare you from all the aimless wandering."

A humourless laugh escaped Ginny and she brushed her hands over her ever-swelling belly. "Our situations are kind of different, don't you think?"

She was pretty sure Voldemort was planning to kill her once the baby was out of her. Or maybe he'd keep her around as his demon-baby breeding vessel. Ginny wasn't willing to accept either option. She had no choice but to do her "aimless wandering", as Narcissa called it, because she had no choice but to keep looking for a way to escape.

Narcissa gave her one of those long looks. "Perhaps they are," she allowed.

There was another moment of silence, but it felt different this time. Less awkward, less weighted. It was a thawing of ice, quiet and understated.

"What would you do if you were me?" Ginny found herself asking.

The older woman let out a breath and turned to face the cherry tree. She brushed her finger against a cluster of pink blossoms. "I'd do whatever is necessary. I'd protect what is important to me, just as I've always done."

"Then you understand."

"Yes. I suppose I do."

Ginny's heart thudded against her ribs. "Can't you just tell me then?"

Narcissa met her gaze. There was a faint question in her eyes.

"You know how I can escape," Ginny explained. "Everything that's important to me is out there. I can't stay here. I can't let him win. If you told me how to—"

"But I have to protect what is important to me, Ginevra." Narcissa turned her back on the redhead. "I'm sorry. I won't put my son's life in danger."

Ginny balled her hands into fists. "He's already in danger. Isn't that why you betrayed Voldemort in the first place?"

"At least he's alive."

Frustration and anger clawed at her chest. "Is that really all you people care about? Just living?"

Narcissa said nothing.

"I can't believe this." Ginny dug her nails into her palms. "What's the point of being alive if you can't even _live_? The world is a fucking mess and you and your son are just letting it get worse! You don't seem to care at all what happens to other people so long as you can keep breathing!"

"Spoken like a child with a child's naivety."

Heat spread over Ginny's cheeks. "W-what?"

Narcissa looked at her with cold eyes; there was no hint of thawing now. "You speak as if it's a simple matter of picking up a wand and making a stand. You know nothing. You are a child who thinks it's possible to save the world."

"It is possible! Why do you think we've been fighting all these years?"

"You have fought because that's all you know how to do. To you and your allies, this is about good and evil. To the rest of us, it's about survival. It's as simple as that."

Ginny swallowed. Her palms hurt from where her nails dug into her skin.

Narcissa stepped away from the tree. "You have courage, I'll give you that. But your saviour is gone and this war has already changed too much. In the end, you are also just existing in your own way."

A lump formed in Ginny's throat. Narcissa didn't wait for a response and left her standing alone in the garden. There was no clang of the gate, no hurried steps. Narcissa was always dignified.

Ginny blinked against hot prickles and stared at the enchanted flowers that would never die and the fairies that had made this place their home. "You're wrong," she muttered.

She wanted to live, yes, but she didn't want to live in this world. She wanted to change it. Heal it. She would never be satisfied with just existing.

 **oOo**

Investigating the wards turned out to be a failure. Whoever had tampered with the spells had disguised their work well. Lara had left the manor with a frown while Draco was just left wondering what to think. A part of him still couldn't shake the feeling that she was hiding something.

"I take it you and Selwyn found nothing."

He flinched and noticed his aunt had come to stand next to him. His silence must have said enough, as she smiled and brushed some of the wild strands of hair away from her face.

"That woman will not last long," she said. "It's only a matter of time now."

"You think she can't find the traitor?"

A raspy laugh. "Don't you think she would have done so by now if she could?"

Draco's brow furrowed. It was difficult to gauge whether his aunt just thought Lara wasn't good enough or whether she also had her suspicions.

Bellatrix turned to go inside the manor, then stopped. "Ah, yes." She glanced over her shoulder to look at him. "It seems the Dark Lord was rather impressed with your actions last night." The corner of her mouth turned up. "How fortunate that you were here to stop the Dissenters."

"I just did what was necessary."

"I know." Her smile widened a fraction. "You never did learn to enjoy it, did you? I hear the Zabini boy used to be a friend of yours. Was it difficult torturing him?"

His jaw tightened and he averted his face.

She laughed again. "You're missing out, Draco. It's all so much better when you can enjoy it. The screams, the twisted looks of pain." Her breath was suddenly hot on his ear; she'd moved closer. "But you want to know my favourite part? It's when their will just snaps like a twig and they start begging. That's when you own them."

Draco's skin crawled. He stepped back to put more space between them. "I prefer to just get the job done."

"So you do. Well, no one can deny you aren't efficient. All that hesitancy and weakness got broken out of you, after all."

He found his hands balling into fists. Her words revived memories he had buried deep and wanted to forget—his first time torturing, his first kill. Both had left him hugging a porcelain bowl and crying while he vomited up what felt like his entire insides.

"I'm going back inside," he said abruptly.

She didn't stop him, for which he was grateful. He didn't think he could have handled being in her presence any longer. All the memories swirling in his head were reminding him of all that had happened. Of how he had changed, of how _she_ and the Dark lord had changed him. Forced to kill, forced to hurt over and over and over and over. He fucking hated it.

He was so fucking sick of this war.

 _Let me out_ , the silken voice of magic whispered from within. _We could end it. We could end it all._

Draco pressed his hand to his chest. His mouth twisted as he felt the power swelling within, dark as pitch. Of course, it was this that he hated the most of all: the magic he had never asked for, the magic that had cursed him into this role.

He was so tired. He was so tempted.


End file.
